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IN TOWN 

AND OTHER CONVERSATIONS 



\M.U 




M s^_ f M A \*- (h t^-'^ 



Mrs . Fletcher 



IN TOWN 

& OTHER CONVERSATIONS 

BY 
JANET AYER FAIRBANK 



PICTURES BY 
REBECCA KRUTTSCHNITT 

COVER DESIGN BY J. O. SMITH 




CHICAGO 
A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1910 



Copyright, 1910, by r* \ \ 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. ^ & ^ -T" r 

Published November, 1910 !X '^ ^ 



These papers are reprinted Jrom the Chicago 
Record -Herald, through whose courtesy they 
are now published in this form. 






©CLA275834 



CONTENTS 



Page 

In Town . . . . . . . ,15 

' Success ........ 25 

The Pursuit of Pleasure . . . . . .35 

Civilization . . . . . . . 47 

Young Love ........ 56 

Debutantes ....... 65 

The American Husband . . . . . .76 

Woman and Superwoman . . . . . 88 

Children .97 

The Gentler Sex 106 

Modern Fiction . . . . . . .118 

Conservation . . . . . . . 127 

Playwriting . . . . . . . .137 

Spring Fever ....... 149 

The House Party . . . . . . .157 

Bores ........ 166 

The Horse Show . . . . , . .173 

Memorial Day . ...... 183 

Country Life . . . . . . , .194 

The First Robin ....... 206 

Socialism . . . . , . . .215 



IN TOWN 

AND OTHER CONVERSATIONS 



rHE reader is to picture Mrs. Fletcher's draw- 
ing room. It has white panelled walls, a dark, 
polished floor, and Adams chairs of gold - colored 
cane and gaily painted wood, standing at dis- 
tances suggestive of intimate conversation. One or two 
charming contemporary French pictures, an elaborate 
Florentine mirror, antique gilt sconces for the lights, and 
two remarkably good examples of Chinese porcelain, are 
the only ornaments to be seen. There are a few books 
lying about, evidently those of a woman, as they are for 
the most part of the modern school scorned by the Ameri- 
can man. They show a becoming interest in the arts and a 
tendency, in the poetry and fiction, to intimate analysis that 
implies a person awakened. The room is restrained and 
has an effect of discrimination that is to be won only by 
elimination. One feels that its creator has learned the 
value, in a crowded life, of surroundings that give an arti- 
ficial suggestion of deliberation and tranquility. A tea tray 

[11] 



I N TOWN 

is placed on a low table near the fire. The service is George 
the First, gray - toned and squat, and the table is covered 
with antique fillet lace. Beyond the half - drawn mauve 
curtains a few indecisive snow flakes drift through the 
clear gray of a November afternoon. 

On any late afternoon during the winter season, Mrs. 
Fletcher may be found seated before her table, pursuing 
her vocation of tea - making. She is the sort of woman to 
whom talk is important and she brings to it the stimulus of 
an open mind; she has, considering her sex, remarkably 
few pre - conceived opinions, and she has femininity enough 
to be careless of consistency. She is the possessor of that 
fortunate gift of venturesome thought and meticulous action 
that makes a likable woman. She is a widow and neither 
radiantly beautiful nor extremely young — but she is quite 
sufficiently good looking, and is not yet middle - aged, even 
when viewed from the standpoint of extreme youth. 

With her the reader may often find her mother, Mrs. 
Vane. She is a comfort loving person, whose hats are as 
modern as her point of view is archaic. She could never, 
even in her youthful time of promise, have been anything 
of an insurgent. Her idea of irreproachable morality is 
confined to an acceptance of the standards of the generation 
immediately preceding her own — and, on the other hand, 
she believes that dangerous demoralisation lies in wait for 
those embracing the ideas of the generation following her. 
She is a woman who prefers action to thought. 

[12] 



I N TOWN 

Mr. Alexander is also a fairly regular partaker of Mrs. 
Fletcher's hospitality. He is the symbol of the normal 
man — solid looking, slightly flushed, and self - important, 
as becomes the junior member of a successful brokerage 
firm. His aim in life is to impress the innocent bystander 
Tvith the conviction that he is a master of all there is to 
know of railroads, the United States Steel Corporation, and 
other kindred affairs. What he does know about "Big Busi- 
•ness" he hides under an air of dark mystery. He is the 
kind of person one might always put one's finger upon — 
providing one wished to. 

Mr. Webber is another friend of Mrs. Fletcher's who 
is found before her fire. He is a writer and an intensive 
man, with a look of painful introspection that betrays one 
who takes the internal part of life hard. In his endeavors 
to comprehend fully the unsaid things, he sometimes over- 
shoots his mark, but on the whole his intuition puts him in 
sympathetic touch with more than his associates would 
dream of telling him. He has, in other words, the faculty 
of seeing below surfaces. 

From time to time other acquaintances of Mrs. Fletcher's 
will appear. 



[13] 



IN TOWN 



MRS. FLETCHER 

{Holding her sugar tongs poised, and looking inquir- 
ingly across her tea table) Will you have sugar, Mr. Alex- 
"iander } 

ALEXANDER 

Yes, two lumps, please. (He takes cup) 

WEBBER 

{Absentmindedly stirring his tea) Well, the Winter is 
upon us again. Are you sorry to be back in town, Mrs. 
Fletcher ? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Thoughtfully) N-no . . . I am not . . . and 
yet, before I made up my mind to leave the country, it 
seemed to me that to begin again upon another crowded 
season would be unendurable. . . i Those last Autumn 
days in the open are so precious; you have that conscious- 
ness of flying time that enhances every commonplace 
moment. 

MRS. VANE 

Well, I am never sorry to leave for the city, when the 
Fall comes. I don't like to feel chilly, and I don't like 
to look out of the window and see great swirls of dead 

[15] 



I N T O W N 

leaves being blown over the lawn; there is something 
creepy about it. ... I think one should try to enjoy 
the country, of course — but it is easier when the flowers 
are blooming, and the garden is full of vegetables, and 
when one can wear light, pretty gowns. {She sips her tea 
with much contentment, and glances about her) There is 
a time for all things. 

ALEXANDER 

I think the trouble with the country at this time of the 
year is that a man is always expected to exercise. I don't 
like to walk in November any more than I do in July, but 
I never go off for a week-end in the Fall without having 
something in the way of a pedestrian stunt put up to me, 
and I'm no natural Weston! 

WEBBER 

But the country is wonderful in the Autumn, and it does 
most amazing things to you! ... In the Spring it 
draws you out — it makes you feel that you must follow 
every vagrant impulse — but in the Fall it crystallizes you 
— it makes you aware of what strength you have in you — 
you are determined to use yourself. . . . It is difficult 
to explain. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(J^odding with comprehending eyes) There is no time 
of the year when one lives so fully — or so consciously. 
. . . Somehow you take nothing for granted — not even 
Nature ! I think there is no keener pleasure than to walk 

[16] 



I N TOWN 

through a yellow wood, with a metallic blue sky over you, 
and crisp, deep leaves under your feet — unless {reminis- 
cently) it is to ride out through a cold rose sunset, and 
home in the clear grey dusk, with nothing but the sound 
of hoof-beats in your ears, and with the air fresh and 
stinging in your face! 

ALEXANDER 

(Sulkily) There's nothing in walking in a wood! A 
wood's a messy place! . . . It's a lot pleasanter to 
stroll down Michigan Avenue, with people around you 
instead of trees, and a good cement sidewalk under your 
feet. ... As for riding on a horse — I'd rather go 
out in a motor, any day — it brings you home sooner. 

MRS. VANE 

I agree with Mr. Alexander. . . . And at this time 
of the year the shops on Michigan Avenue have such very 
attractive things in the windows! To-day I saw a lovely 
hat there — really lovely! — but I didn't dare buy it, 
because it was a little like the ones we wore last Summer, 
and I do try to have my hats advanced. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Giving way to the pleasure of self -analysis) It is 
strange how different sides of you respond to different 
suggestions. . . . There is a stimulus in the ordinary, 
every-day life in a crowd — there is no denying it. 

[17] 



I N TOWN 

WEBBER 

Of course there is — we are human, after all. 
Do you never sit in a crowded railroad train or trolley, 
and try really to get at the lives of the men and women 
you see there? 

MRS. VANE 

{Speaking strictly from her own experience) Motors 
have done so much to relieve crowded trolleys ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Leaning forward in her chair, and eagerly following 
Webber's suggestions) I know what you mean; it's a 
curious feeling of sympathy you have, and it's very inter- 
esting. You wonder why the comfortably dressed woman 
across the aisle from you looks so hauntingly unhappy — 
and why the shabby, ill-nourished girl next her seems so 
supremely contented with life. One can never be lonely 
in a crowd, if one only uses one's eyes. Last week on 
the train I sat behind a little slip of a woman, and a man 
with a dreadful look of finality about him. He was her 
husband, evidently, for they didn't talk unless they wanted 
to •> — and I watched them, side by side. . . . She smiled 
at him when he spoke to her, and I hoped she was stupid 
enough to be satisfied with him — but her eyes above her 
smile were sad. . . . They have gone out of my life — 
they never really touched it — and yet I keep remembering 
the appeal of her look, and wondering if she knows what 

[18] 



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Women always look so very well when they first come 
back to town in the Autumn ' ' 



J 



I N TOWN 

was so plain to me — that she is being defrauded of her 
possibilities — and possibilities are the best thing in life, 
are they not? 

ALEXANDER 

Probabilities have possibilities beaten a mile! There's 
nothing in wanting what the chances are you'll never get. 

WEBBER 

'{Dreamily) It's a very poignant thing — that curi- 
osity about one's unknown fellow-men. 

ALEXANDER 

{Perversely) I don't see any sense in being curious 
about anyone you don't know. . . . We all know all 
the best people — every one who is worth knowing. The 
woman you saw was probably as happy as she had any 
right to be — people generally are. 

WEBBER 

Yes — it's in our own hands, largely. 

MRS. VANE 

And I don't see that any good comes from speculating 
about people; I haven't time for it^I'm much too busy. 
Besides that, it's very seldom that I see anyone worth 
noticing in a crowd; most people are so badly dressed! 
{To Mrs. Fletcher) There was that woman last Summer 

[21] 



I N T Q W N 

wlio had that automobile coat that I copied but — {tri- 
umphantly) — it was a failure^ after all — and that just 
shows ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I believe that one of the most wholesome things about 
being a part of a community is that you find yourself 
thinking of people all the time; it helps you to under- 
stand. ... In the countr}?^ you are dependent upon 
yourself; you must build up your own interests, and. with 
no one to contradict you_, it is very easy to become egotis- 
tical and self-important. ... I think that only a really 
great person — a genius — could live apart all his life and 
not deteriorate. . . . The city j ars you — and irritates 
you — and, after a while, it humbles you enough for you 
to realize that you are not of much importance after all. 
You see that you are just like all the other good people 
marching along with j^ou — only very likely you are not 
accomplishing one-half as much as they are! 

MRS. VANE 

I think it is impossible for anyone to accomplish more 
in a day than I do. Now take to-day, for example. (She 
counts off on her fingers) I went to three fittings — to 
the first meeting of my bridge club — to a luncheon, and 
to a comin.g-out tea. No one could do more. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

A wealth of accomplishment ! 

[ 22 1 



I N TOWN 

ALEXANDER 

{Defiantly) Well, I like full days — and I like the 
town — and I like to find it easy to see my friends — and 
I like to have things going on around me ! . . . I like 
to hear the motors honking — and the whistles on the river 

— and that murmur, all the time, of things happening. 

WEBBER 

The growl of the city ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Thoughtfully) To wake at night, and, instead of the 
far-reaching quiet, and the stars — to hear always a vague 
call from thousands of people — and to look up at a sky 
sullenly glowing with the reflection of the lights they live 
by — that is something stronger than rural nature — it 
gives you a sense of kinship. . . . And it is exciting, 
too, for you feel that there is always something mysterious 

— there is no way so unknown as the ways among men — 
and you have a consciousness of something impending, for 
it is in the cities that anything may happen to you at any 
time — nothing is too strange ; any day spent among men 
may change the whole trend of your life. 

MRS. VANE 

{Complacently) But, my dear, the lives of people like 
us don't alter very much; there is that to be thankful for. 

[23] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

You never can tell, and that's what makes it interesting. 
. . . You look out over the city — your own city, that 
owns you — and there, in the careless throng, your future 
is hidden away. Something more powerful than you are 
is waiting there for you, and you know it, and you can't 
hasten it, nor delay it, no matter how eager or how loath 
you are. 

WEBBER 

The country is simply a resting place, there is no doubt 
of that. It is only where we retire to make ourselves ready 
for life. 

MRS. VANE 

I agree with you there, Mr. Webber. The country is 
so healthful — of course it is very good for the complexion, 
and all that. I think women always look so very well when 
they first come back to town in the Autumn. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It is in the city that you do your work. It's there you 
make your friends. It's there you find out whether you 
have character or not — whether you are a strong person 
or a weak one. It's a test of us — that's what the town 
is — a test and an opportunity. . . . Mr. Alexander, 
do let me fill your cup. 



[24] 



1 1 
SUCCESS 



MRS. FLETCHER 

(Who finds it easier to he skeptical than to take another's 
opinions for granted.) Mr. Weld, how do you take your 
-tea.'' 

WELD 

(^He is a proficient man, who must, even in his cradle, 
hatJe borne the stamp of achievement; he is the predestined 
bank or railroad president. He speaks in a voice that has 
confidential undertones, and with a hurried delivery that 
does not leave him breathless, as it might a lesser man.) 
I don't take it ordinarily. Haven't time. Fix it as you 
like. (Mrs. Fletcher tranquilly obeys him) No — two 
lumps, please. Thanks. {He tastes it) May I have a 
little hot water.'* — Thanks. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Sweetly) I hope that is just exactly as you like it! 

WELD 

(Instantly detecting the sarcasm in her tone, but pay- 
ing it no attention beyond a tolerant smile) Perfect, thanks. 
It's my habit to get what I want — as I want it. The 



[25] 



I N T () W N 

only thing that troubles me is regulating the demand to 
the supply. 

MRS. VANE 

{A feminine creature who instinctively prefers the preda- 
tory male.) It's very annoying when your tea is not 
as you like it. It is one of the most upsetting things I 
know. 

WEBBER 

(A man whose daily struggle is to make up his mind that 
what cannot be cured must he endured.) It is always an- 
noying when things are not as you want them, but what 
are you going to do about it? 

WELD 

Change them. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

May I ask what you would have done if I had not 
been able to suit vour taste in tea.^ 



WELD 

(^Promptly, and with a trace of impatience) Gone to 
another lady, if I considered it important. (Having made 
a business of drinking his tea, he places his cup on the 
table, with an air of getting one more thing off his hands) 
I am a great believer in competition, you know. 

[26] 



S U C . C E 



ALEXANDER 



(Who regards discomfort as a roaring lion, and rvho is 
no Nimrod.) But Mrs. Fletcher corners the market on tea. 
Weld. You'll have to admit it. 

WELD 

In that case I shall be forced to offer inducements. 

• MRS. FLETCHER 

{Glancing up quickly from her task of filling a cup) 
Oh, do ! 

MRS. VANE 

Inducements are very interesting, but they are not gen- 
erally made so publicly, are they, Mr. Weld? 

ALEXANDER 

(Suddenly becoming all broker) Do you think he'd 
admit it if they weren't.^ 

WELD 

On the contrary, I court publicity these days. I find it 
pays. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Nothing is more disarming. 

WEBBER 

But how would you go about it? 

[27] 



I N TOWN 

WELD 

I should simply be forced to convince Mrs. Fletcher that 
it was to her interest to supply me. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(With lifted eyebrows) Is that all.? And would you 
allow me to serve anyone CISC'* — Here is your cup, Mr. 
Webber. 

WELD 

I should make him pay for it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Amiably) I do that, Mr. Weld. 

MRS. VANE 

{Hovering undecidedly over the cake) It is always 
so interesting to get a business man's ideas about afternoon 
tea. 

WELD 

{Speaking forcefully, as one mounting a familiar hobby) 
The business man's idea is the only one that counts in the 
year IQIO, Mrs. Vane. 

ALEXANDER 

But everybody knows that. Weld. 

WEBBER 

How about all the wise men who make it a business to 

[28] 



SUCCESS 

observe and comment? Are their voices lost in the clamor 
of the market place? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And why should the business man be the only one to 
count ? 

WELD 

(Bluntly disdaining literary half-tones when discussing 
a practical topic) Because it is only the man who is 
strong enough to succeed who is worth listening to. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Ah, but there you have the old question of what is suc- 
cess. 

ALEXANDER 

(Startled) But everyone knows that, Mrs. Fletcher. 

WEBBER 

Does everyone ? — I wonder — ^Vhat's your idea of it, 
Alexander ? 

ALEXANDER 

(Promptly, as one disposing of a simple question) 
Why, having more money than you can spend. 

MRS. VANE 

(Comfortably) But I think that is so material, Mr. 
Alexander. Now I have seen people with enormous in- 
comes — simply enormous — who made a failure when 

[29] 



I N TOWN 

it came to spending them^ and I think that is one of life's 
tragedies. To be really successful I think you should be 
able to spend your money as well as make it; you must 
have perfect taste in clothes — and a feeling for rugs and 
pictures — and you should be able to tell what kind of 
china a plate is without looking at the under side. That 
is my idea of success. 

WELD 

The purse is an amazingly good educator, Mrs. Vane. 
Besides, that is not success; that is only attainment. 

ALEXANDER 

(Who has been struggling with thought) I didn't mean 
that money made success, exactly. I meant that it is get- 
ting what you want, and, of course, a man has to pay for 
that. It comes to the same thing in the long run. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Abstractedly stirring her tea) Sometimes getting what 
one wants is failure. 

WEBBER 

(Gloomily regarding her) You make success rather 
tragic. 

WELD 

(Frowning, and evidently endeavoring for the first time 
to put his impressions on the subject into words, he being 

[so] 



SUCCESS 

a man of action rather than of introspection) Well^ it 
isn't money at any rate. Why, a man can inherit that! 
It's only valuable as a sort of tally. I believe that success 
is the consciousness of ascendancy, — of — -of subdual. It 
is the sureness of power over other men. 

WEBBER 

{Looking at Weld rvith a quick respect) Yes, — that 
is expugnation, — of a primitive sort. 

WELD 

I am a primitive man. I haven't had time for the sub- 
tleties. I haven't theorized about getting my ends. I have 
just gone after them. I may have missed sensations. 

ALEXANDER 

{Paying Weld the respect due to one who can affect the 
stock market) You haven't missed much else! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I have an idea that it is only in the beginning, when 
we are first rising above mediocrity, that we have all the 
emotions of success. It is like ballooning, — when you 
once get above the tree tops and the church steeples you 
have nothing to gauge your speed by; you can't realize 
how fast you are moving. 

[si] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

But it takes so much time to be successful, and I think 
it is really very commonplace, after all. It means that the 
best years of a person's life are occupied by something 
very confining. I hope our next generation will be above 
it. I have a feeling that if anyone went in for being a 
failure, he might make a tremendous success out of it! 

WEBBER 

The last test of greatness is the power of reducing suc- 
cess to its proper place. 

WELD 

(Mildly amused at what he takes to be the inactive point 
of view) I suppose you hold that the proof of a man's suc- 
cess should be a woman's smile. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Don't take away a woman's only function, Mr. Weld. 
If we can't be in the fight, do at least allow us to crown 
the victors. 

ALEXANDER 

It's been my experience that the victors crown you! It 
was surprising the number of tiaras at the balls last Win- 
ter; it seemed as if every man who made a neat turn on the 
market must have bought one for his wife ; and, of course, 
a woman must be satisfied if her husband is prosperous, 
and she gets the results. 

[32] 



SUCCESS 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Sometimes results are not as absorbing as they might 
be, Mr. Alexander. 

WEBBER 

{Encouragingly) But there are plenty of women who 
are doing things that are worth while — who have full 
lives. 

MRS. VANE 

Of course there are! In these days a woman can make 
quite a career for herself, and of course it's very fashion- 
able to have a career. She has society and her clubs, and 
Chicago offers so much in music now, and things like that ; 
it always seems to me to be a woman's own fault if she 
does nothing. 

WELD 

{Dogmatically) Of course, success is simply the will- 
ingness to make sacrifices; no great gain was ever made 
without that; nothing is more ruthless. 

ALEXANDER 

I can't see the use of arguing about a thing like success. 
If you have it you know it, — or if you don't, the tax col- 
lector will tell you, — and if you haven't it you know that 
too — or at any rate you'll find it out the first of the 
month ! 

[33] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And I suppose it is like everything else, after all; when 
you haven't it you long for it, and when you get it I am 
told you are disappointed. It must be the desire for it 
that counts. If anyone has any ambition for another cup 
of tea I will gratify it, and he may testify. 



[S4] 



1 1 1 
THE PURSUIT OF PLEASURE 



MRS. FLETCHER 

{A fortunate possessor of that pleasantly melancholy 
temperament that does not interfere with a frivolous life. 
On the contrary, it enhances; one pities her for her pleas- 
ures.) The season is to be a long one this year. (She 
sighs) 

MRS. VANE 

(Whose generation is betrayed mainly by her antagon- 
isms; her fresh color and her fashionable clothes making 
her appear younger than she is.) It always seems to me to 
be a great pity when the season is short; it is very unfair 
to the debutantes. They no sooner come out than they 
have to go in again. 

WEBBER 

Like the ground hog, exactly ! They see their shadows, 
poor little things, and run. 

MRS. VANE 

(With placid persistence) I have always thought, my- 
self, that if we must have Lent at all, August and Septem- 
ber would be the ideal time for it — when things are so 
informal, anyway, one wouldn't be particularly inconven- 
ienced by it. 

[35] 



I N TOWN 

ALEXANDER 

But if everything were going right on here in the city, 
we shouldn't have any excuse for going to Palm Beach — 
or Egypt — or places like that. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And only think how we should hate ourselves if we kept 
on indefinitely making a tremendous effort to be pleasant to 
our acquaintances. 

WEBBER 

With no time left us to be kind to our friends ! 

MRS. VANE 

{Philosophically) Well, I've always felt that acquain- 
tances are really better company than friends; they are 
obliged to be so very amiable all the time, and I've often 
noticed that friends think their whole obligation is to tell 
you unpleasant truths about yourself. I have a friend 
who considers it her duty to tell me when she thinks my 
gowns are not becoming — and our taste isn't at all the 
same. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

No truth that is unpleasant should ever be spoken — at 
any rate, not to ladies. 

ALEXANDER 

(With ponderous cynieism) They wouldn't believe you 
if you did, so why not save yourself the trouble t 

[36] 




Reducing our nerves to powder — for nothing" 



thp: pursuit of pleasure 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And truth is rather boring, isn't it? I'm sorry to say- 
that it has not been my experience to find it stranger than 
fiction. 

WEBBER 

You forget that fiction has changed so greatly in this 
generation, Mrs, Fletcher. What with Kipling, and Cham- 
bers, it is so much stranger than it once was, that it is 
asking a great deal of truth to keep up with it. 

MRS. VANE 

You literary men seem to have given up doing historical 
novels, Mr. Webber — and that is a great satisfaction to 
me. It is so very much pleasanter to read about society 
people than about Bedouins, and Icelanders — and crea- 
tures like that. Don't you think so, Mr. Alexander? 

ALEXANDER 

(Reasonably, as a man of the world) Well — of course 
any man would rather read about his own kind of people — 
if he's going to read, that is. 

WEBBER 

Down with Prince Charlie and romance! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And up with convention — and the engagement book ! 

[89] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

{Doggedly, and at the same time with a faded archness^ 
You are like me, Mr. Alexander; you prefer people to 
books. I have always said that they were more enjoyable. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Vaguely) It depends on both, doesn't it.^* 

ALEXANDER 

Well, I will say that when I read I like to feel that the 
chap who wrote the book was used to going out; you feel 
that you can respect what he says then — even if he does 
go in for brains ! 

MRS. VANE 

{Animatedly) I am so glad that the time of the year is 
over when there is nothing to do but read ! In the Summer 
I take all the magazines, always; I don't know what it is 
about magazines ; even if you haven't seen the old ones you 
never dream of looking at them. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

They are like our hats. Mother; we feel the same way 
about them, when new models are in. 

MRS. VANE 

{Continuing her line of thought, even in the face of so 
alluring a branch topic) But now there will be some- 

[40] 



THE PURSUIT OF PLEASURE 

thing to do all the time ! There will be new things at all 
the theatres — and opera for the whole Winter ! 

WEBBER 

That will not only be a joy to listen to^ but it will also 
furnish a new topic of conversation — and that is a real 
godsend. 

MRS. VANE 

What with so many hotels opening now, pretty restaur- 
ants, and the opera here for so long, I feel as if I were in 
another city. 

WEBBER 

It isn't in the least like Chicago; we are forgetting all 
about La Salle Street. 

ALEXANDER 

As long as La Salle Street pays the bills, you can af- 
ford to forget it. I have an idea that a new era is com- 
ing for Chicago — the era of good food ! 

WEBBER 

That is a great step, I have no doubt — and now that 
chefs are paid more than university professors, it is easy 
to predict the effect on the next generation. It only re- 
mains for some benevolent millionaire to pension them 
after their labors are over, to make the profession a temp- 
tation to any university graduate. 

[41] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But I am a little weary of always considering the next 
generation I We hear so much about it all the time, and I 
will confess that I am aware of a guilty wish to enjoy 
things for myself, with never a thought of those coming 
after me. 

WEBBER 

It is the old feeling for the bird in the hand. 

ALEXANDER 

Yes — or the bird on the table ! 

MRS. VANE 

I think the opera is a good thing in so many ways. It 
makes the papers so interesting; I am always late for my 
morning appointments when it is here, because I feel that 
whatever else I may skip, the opera is really important. 
Of course one must know what the women wear; one must 
keep up with things like that. 

ALEXANDER 

But, Mrs. Vane, the trouble with the opera is that so 
many people you don't know go to it — and you don't care 
what they wear! 

MRS. VANE 

In the old days one knew everyone in town who had 
a carriage, and the people who supported the opera all 

[42] 



THE PURSUIT OF PLEASURE 

called each other by their first names — it was very 
friendly — and {sentimentally voicing the judgment of 
her generation) the opera was better then, too. There 
has never been a singer to compare with Patti — or with 
Campanini. 

ALEXANDER 

Shades of Caruso ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Ah, that is retrospect. It's wonderful how it enhances. 

WEBBER 

That — and the judgment of a generation. We all pos- 
sess many things that we care nothing for until we see that 
others value them. Sometimes we make the discovery too 
late. 

MRS. VANE 

I like the social side of opera; it's so civilizing. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well, it brings us new sensations, and new sensations 
are worth working for ! It enlarges our vision -^ it spurs 
our imagination — and it gives us, now and then, in the 
midst of our conventional lives, an emotional moment. It's 
things like that — the Art Institute — the University — the 
Orchestra — that counteract our commercial town and 
times, and possibly some day — any day — because of 

[43] 



I N T OWN 

them — some creative person may develop. That is an 
optimistic idea I like to cling to. 

MRS. VANE 

(Harking back to her gaieties) And there will be din- 
ners, of course — why, there will be something all the time ! 
It is so upsetting to go to bed early; it makes you feel 
almost like getting up for breakfast ! 

ALEXANDER 

(With heartfelt sympathy) And there's something about 
a long morning that's worse, even, than a short evening ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Dismally) There will be balls and musicales to go to 
— and big things like that. 

WEBBER 

We shall all be feeling very unimportant. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Why that.? 

WEBBER 

Crowds are wholesome things ; they reduce the individual 
to insignificance. There is always a danger of becoming 
smug when one limits one's circle. 

[44] 



THE PURSUIT OF PLEASURE 

MRS. VANE 

But I think it is so very difficult to be insignificant now- 
adays. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Nothing else attracts so much attention ; it is the last re- 
sort of the over-advertised. 

MRS, VANE 

It seems to me that is the thing most in its favor. It 
defeats its own ends without any fuss — and a fuss — 
when one is going out all the time — is so very tiresome. 

ALEXANDER 

Speaking of going out — all the husbands at my club are 
looking as if the market had dropped^ now that the dances 
are coming on. It's a discouraging sight for a bachelor ! 

MRS. VANE 

I always think it is very, very, inconsiderate of husbands 
to allow themselves to look tired. It seems to me that 
when a woman marries a man the least he can do is to go 
out with her. But then, I am very old-fashioned. 

WEBBER 

Is it all worth while, I wonder.^ 

ALEXANDER 

(Puzzled and therefore antagonistic) What? 

[45] 



I N T O W > N 

WEBBER 

This dashing about for four months of the year, and re- 
ducing our nerves to powder — for nothing. Why will we 
do it ? 

ALEXANDER 

(Staling^ A man must do what's being done ! 

MRS. VANE 

(Stiffly) And there is one's position to consider, and 
wliat is owing; to it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Absently turning the wick of her lamp) There's am- 
usement — and the gamble of whether you will get it or not. 



[46] 



IV 

CIVILIZATION 



ADDISON 

(A recently returned wanderer from over the face of the 
earth. He has that which, of all instincts, is the most diffi- 
cult for a city-bred man to understand — the real gypsy 
love of wandering.) It is very pleasant to be here again, 
Mrs. Fletcher. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It must seem very dull to you to be settled down — to 
be doing nothing more exciting than taking tea with ladies. 

ALEXANDER 

(He is a distinctly urban person, and is proud of the 
fact.) It ought to seem good to you. A man must get 
such unspeakable food in the queer places you go. After- 
noon tea isn't to be despised — may I have some of that de- 
lectable looking cake? 

WEBBER 

Afternoon tea is one of the most rewarding things civil- 
ization has given us. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(True to her sex, she has forced her impulses to conform 
to her way of living, with the result that she sometimes^ 

[47] 



I N TOWN 

voices revolutionary doctrines.) To occupy the time — 
and at the same time waste it — that is civilization's aim. 

ALEXANDER 

{Choosing his cake with the care befitting so serious a 
task) I don't call this wasting time — (He tastes his 
cake) — I should say not ! 

ADDISON 

(Disposing of vocations with all the ease of the un- 
attached person) Civilization is only fit to run away 
from. It is the most overrated thing I know; conditions 
have forced us into it, and we all put as good a face on it 
as we may. 

WEBBER 

It is a curious thing that the structure we men and women 
have built up should be so unnatural. Nothing is more 
artificial than civilization. 

ALEXANDER 

Yes — it makes us sit up all night because we can't bear 
to go to bed — and lie in bed half the day because we can't 
bear to get up. Not but what there is something in late 
hours. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It gives us comforts, of course — but it has demanded 
our sensations in payment for them. 

[48] 



C I V f L I Z A T I Q N 

WEBBER 

Nowadays the sopliisticated person knows comfort 
pretty thoroughly, and has had very little experience of 
discomfort. I suppose that is the reason primitive life so 
often seems attractive. 

ADDISON 

It has a more positive charm than that. Have you no 
curiosity — ^you town-protected people — to know what the 
free life is like } Do you never dream, — while you are 
looking at swarming buildings — of the long, dim^, empty 
reaches of the forests, or of the wide prairie, with the 
purple shadows, and no thing in sight all day long except 
you and your horse.? Do you never feel that to win your 
way to mountain tops is the one thing in all the world 
that will satisfy you.? Have you no desire to know the 
sea more intimately than you may in a five days' crossing 
with the dressmakers on the Mauretania, — or to drift 
about unheralded among strange people.? Do you never 
get away from the obligations that pen you in.? {His eye 
falls on Alexander, placidly consuming cake, and he 
breaks off abruptly) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Gently) Nothing is so alluring as the unknown. 

WEBBER 

We all know intimately the usual ideal for life. 

[49] 



I N T O W N 

ALEXANDER 

Do we ? What is it ? 

WEBBER 

A well dressed person walking unquestioningly along a 
well beaten path, doing his best to reach the well known 
goal that every other well spoken of person is trying for. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The unthinking following after the unthought ! 

ADDISON 

{Mounted upon his hobby.) There is little chance for 
originality in our city life ; it never gives one the opportun- 
ity to be alone. 

ALEXANDER 

Who wants to be alone.'' I always think the man who 
goes in for that must be awfully unpopular. I believe his 
fad is just a form of whistling to keep his courage up. 

ADDISON 

But it is only when we have learned to be alone that we 
have learned the true enjoyment to be had in companion- 
ship. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I fancy that after a season spent in the deep woods, or 
on the desert, almost any companionship might seem re- 
warding ! {She sighs) — It would be worth while trying, if 
only for that ! 

[so] 



CIVILIZATION 

WEBBER 

The trouble with going off by yourself is that you get to 
know yourself too intimately. In the ordinary intercourse 
of city life those depths to which you have accustomed 
yourself are seldom reached^ and you will have put your- 
self into a frame of mind where surfaces bore you. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Wistfully) Only a foolish woman allows herself to 
get into a frame of mind where the kind of life she knows 
she must lead distresses her. There is one perfectly sure 
thing about civilization — the unexpected never happens ! 

WEBBER 

But if it did, the civilized person would be wretchedly 
unprepared. 

ALEXANDER 

I don't like unexpected things. I like to know what I 
am up against. I like to be sure that I know where I am. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Is there, I wonder, no real charm in uncertainty.^ 

ALEXANDER 

(Doggedly) Well, I like life to be easy. I like the 
city, and the things a man does there. I like to go to the 
theatre, and to ball games, and to be near my clubs, and the 
automobile agency where I can get new parts for my car. 

[51] 



I N T O W ' N 

MRS. FLETCHER 

We all make use of the conveniences, Mr. Alexander — 
they are the great reward civilization offers, but some of 
us are so unreasonable as to want something in addition. 

ALEXANDER 

{Making a sweeping gesture that takes in the appoint- 
ments of Mrs. Fletcher^s room) Isn't this enough for 
you.? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It isn't a question of enough; it is a question of too 
much; we are smothered in abundance. 

WEBBER 

(Doubtfully) Civilization should mean advantages — 
we are losing sight of that. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It does, of course. It gives the immense advantage of 
companionship. It is only in the cities that one may 
choose; in the isolated life one must make friends with 
whoever happens to be near by. 

ALEXANDER 

Civilization gives us competition; how many successful 
men do you know who would be anywhere without that } — • 
And it gives the chance to earn money ; — somebody has to 
pay for the camping outfits ! 

[52] 



CIVILIZATION 

WEBBER 

It offers, too, the opportunity to give a helping hand to 
those who are not so fortunately placed as we are. 

ALEXANDER 

(Gloomily) That's an opportunity that we are not of- 
ten allowed to forget. We're always being asked for ice 
in Summer and coal in Winter — but (more cheerfully) 
there are things that make up. Why, everything we know 
we learn in the city! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Is that so, I wonder? Have our instincts really become 
atrophied ? Are we so benumbed by life that we can learn 
only in the stimulus of a crowd ? 

ADDISON 

There is nothing more stimulating than feeling — as one 
does in the wilderness — that one's very existence depends 
on one's self. The urban person is accustomed to take the 
essentials for granted, and to rely upon himself for the 
inessentials only. It is all very well to scorn your meat 
and drink — try to get them for a while, and see how you 
feel about them then ! 

ALEXANDER 

(With a warlike glare over his tea cup) My idea of 
civilization isn't scorning meat and drink ! My idea of civ- 
ilization is a good cook. 

[53] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Fervently expressing the natural reaction of her hind) 
I am tired of streets and crowds — and I am tired of find- 
ing people everywhere I turn. I should like to try the 
deep woods — and the silence — and the realities ! 

ALEXANDER 

Realities ! — Is a tent any more real than a house.'* — Is 
a miserable spindling trout cooked over a smoking camp fire, 
any more real than a good, well served dinner } — It's all 
very well to talk about thinking high thoughts in the wil- 
derness ; the only time I tried it I was more wretched than 
ever before in my life! I spent all the morning batting 
flies, and thinking about lunch, and all the afternoon bat- 
ting flies and thinking about dinner — and at night I 
dreamed about buttered toast! That is what the primitive 
life meant to me. It's my idea of nothing to go in for. 

ADDISON 

But it is worth the trying, if only to add a zest to one's 
usual way of living. The drawback to a conventional life 
is that one day is pretty much like another; the wear comes 
always in the same place. That is the reason it is hard on 
the nerves. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I think that you have put your finger on the real ex- 
planation, Mr. Addison. Just as nature demands a 
change, we human bemgs naturally long for what we 

[54] 



CIVILIZATION 

haven't. When we are unhappy it does not mean that we 
are necessarily wrongly placed; our discontent may be 
quite undivine — and, just as we social people sometimes 
fancy we should enjoy exile, — I suppose the true recluse 
deludes himself, now and then, into thinking that what he 
needs to complete his life is the community. 

WEBBER 

And behind all that is instinct. I imagine it has led the 
greater number of us to choose the life that we are, on the 
whole, the better suited for — the one where we are hap- 
pier. Of course — there are rebellions. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Looking moodily about her pleasant room, past her com- 
fortable chairs and carefully selected ornaments, to where 
the door defines the boundaries of her freedom) Yes — 
there are rebellions. Will anyone have another cup of tea? 
— or, if you are tired of tea — you may have coffee. Stay- 
ing awake all night is a cheap price to pay for a change in 
your daily habits. 



[ 55 ] 



YOUNG LOVE 



MRS. FLETCHER 

(^She is in that fleeting period when she is not too old 
to recall the giddiness of youth, nor too young to ignore 
the stabilities of middle age. She is able to look both for- 
ward and bach,) Do you take two lumps, Dorothy? 

DOROTHY BLACK 

{A fiancee. Anything less obvious than her engagement 
to marry is suffering a temporary eclipse.) Y-es, please — 
(Doubtfully) — Harold doesn't want me to take tea in 
the afternoon; he is afraid it will make me nervous. Do 
you think I shouldn't.'' 

MRS. VANE 

(A luxury-loving person, whose function seems to be to 
fill all conversational gaps.) My dear child, that is just a 
superstition. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Offering cup) You should look after Harold. One of 
the first signs of nervous strain in a man is the fear of it 
in a woman. 

[56] 



YOUNG LOVE 

WEBBER 

{Passing toast) And you will find, as life goes on, that 
there are many things that are worse for one's nerves 
than tea! 

ALEXANDER 

(On whom the so-called pleasures of life have not yet 
begun to pall.) I think the only harm in it is that it ruins 
^our appetite for dinner. 

MRS. VANE 

{Solemnly) And apart from all that, Dorothy, you 
really should not begin by allowing Harold to dictate to 
you about what you may do in the afternoon. That is 
the one time when a woman should be allowed to be in- 
dependent. Her mornings belong to her cook — and the 
dressmaker — and people like that — and her evenings to 
her friends — and her husband, too, of course — but her 
afternoons are her own! 

DOROTHY BLACK 

{Questioningly , but with a dawning pleasure in revolt) 
I suppose that is so. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Cheerfully) Don't worry about Harold, Mother. He 
will let Dorothy do exactly as she wishes, of course. He 
isn't a foreigner, or anything like that — he is just a nice 
American boy — made to be henpecked ! 

[57] 



I N T O W N 

DOROTHY BLACK 

(Protestingly) Oh, Mrs. Fletcher ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well, of course, my dear — no one will compel you to 
peck him. 

MRS. VANE 

(Stiffly) I think every husband is the better for some 
disciplining from his wife. 

ALEXANDER 

(Shying off this unpleasant suggestion) When is the 
wedding to be, Miss Black? 

DOROTHY BLACK 

On New Year's day. 

MRS. VANE 

(Placidly stirring her tea) I think the Winter is the 
very best time to be married; you can have such a lovely 
trousseau — and the bridesmaid's dresses can be really 
beautiful. 

DOROTHY BLACK 

(Ecstatically) Oh, you should see mine! They are 
sweet — so white and fluffy. 

-WEBBER •■ : 

There's something very touching about a young wedding 

[58] 



YOUNG LOVE 

party "all white and fluffy." It makes one think of Mer- 
edith's poetry on girlhood. 

MRS. VANE 

(ShaJcing a prophetic head) You young people are so 
courageous ! You go lightly into things that I should hesi- 
tate to undertake, at my time of life. . . . Now there 
is this matter of the bridesmaids' dresses alone; it is a 
'great responsibility to decide on them, 

DOROTHY BLACK 

(With the air of one saying the last word) Well, 
Madame Marie is making them. 

MRS. VANE 

{Eyeing her with increased respect) Well, my dear ! 
Of course in that case — I must say I like to see a really 
smart wedding, and pretty girls. So many brides seem to 
have such curiously plain friends. I always think it would 
be kinder to them to ask them to sit in the front pew, or 
something. Bridesmaids should be chosen entirely for their 
looks, regardless of whether you are attached to them or 
not. 

ALEXANDER 

(Jovially) Like a chorus ! 

WEBBER 

How about the groom.'' If his appearance doesn't come 

[59] 



^> 



I N TOWN 

up to this high standard, should he be discarded for some 
more beautiful youth? 

DOROTHY BLACK 

No one ever looks at a man at a wedding; what an ab- 
surd idea ! 

ALEXANDER 

May I have another cup, please? {To Dorothy Black) 
Where are you going on your wedding trip ? 

DOROTHY BLACK 

Well, we haven't decided yet. You see, Harold thinks 
that it would be fun to go out to his brother's ranch in 
Southern California, where we could take riding trips, and 
things like that. . . . Harold is very fond of camping 
out, but all the girls I know have gone to New York on 
their honeymoons, and I can't decide which I would rather 
do. 

MRS. VANE 

Oh, my dear — don't go to the wilderness anywhere! 
You can't tell, yet, whether you will grow tired of Harold 
or not, and you might be awfully bored; I think that is 
such an unfortunate way to begin married life. 

WEBBER 

It's a more usual way to end it. 

[60] 



YOUNG LOVE 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Kindly) Don't let them frighten you, Dorothy — I 
think it might be wonderful at the ranch. 

MRS. VANE 

{Persistently) But the West has had such a bad in- 
fluence on family life that I shouldn't like the idea of go- 
ing there on a wedding trip! It would be like tempting 
Providence. 

WEBBER 

{Consolingly) But if Providence had yielded every 
time it has been tempted, it would long since have lost its 
prestige! And at any rate, Mrs. Vane, Southern Califor- 
nia isn't South Dakota ! 

ALEXANDER 

New York is full of good shows. Miss Black — and I'll 
be glad to put Harold up at my clubs there, in case you 
want to get rid of him. 

DOROTHY BLACK 

{Hastily) You are very good, Mr. Alexander — but 
I think we shall go West. {As one looking on the bright 
side) I have a lovely new riding habit, anywa}^ 

MRS. VANE 

I suppose you are busy getting your clothes ? 

[6:] 



I N T O W N 

DOROTHY BLACK 

{Fretfully) Oh, yes, and I am tired out with fittings 
every day. I have never been so cross in my life — and 
now I am beginning to have wedding present notes to write. 

WEBBER 

You will not need tea to make you nervous, Miss Black. 

MRS. VANE 

Wedding presents already ! Do tell us what people have 
sent you. 

DOROTHY BLACK 

{Counting off on her fingers) Well, we have had some 
silver, and my aunt gave us a Georgian sideboard — and 
Harold's cousin sent us an Italian dining table — they 
don't go very well together, but they are lovely apart — 
and some books — and five sofas — 

WEBBER 

Five sofas? Your life will be one long loaf! 

MRS. VANE 

My dear Dorothy, I would take them back and exchange 
them; I wouldn't hesitate. 

DOROTHY BLACK 

But we have so much sentiment about our wedding pres- 
ents, Mrs. Vane. 

[62] 



YOUNG LOVE 

MRS. VANE 

(Sternly) Dorothy, I am a very sentimental person! I 
have made a point of it all my life — but I should never 
give up to it in an important matter like this. 
Why, I had a cousin who allowed that feeling to influence 
her — and she had to take the Welsbach burner out of her 
kitchen, and use a Tiffany lamp there ! She had fourteen 
given her. •" 

DOROTHY BLACK 

(Sorrowfully) The kitchen in our apartment is too 
small for a sofa. . . . Will some one tell me what time 

it is? 

WEBBER 

(Consulting his watch) Five o'clock. 

DOROTHY BLACK 

(In dismay) Is it really? I must go. I am due now 
at the apartment to meet Harold and decide on the wall 
papers. I am afraid if I keep him waiting he will not like 
the samples I sent up. 

ALEXANDER 

(Regretfully putting down his cup) I'll run you over 
in my motor, if you like. 

DOROTHY BLACK 

Oh, thank you so much ! Good-bye, Mrs. Vane — I wish 
you would come in and see my things. 

[63] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

I should love to, ray dear — but I think I shall j ust wait 
until your dresses come home. 

DOROTHY BLACK 

Good-bye, Mrs. Fletcher. 

(Dorothy Black and Mr. Alexander go out.) 

MRS. VANE 

(Sighing) Dear me, getting married is really quite 
an undertaking, isn't it.'* 

WEBBER 

(Bitterly) Yes — but I should say that it was more of 
a commercial than an emotional one. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Nonsense! You should have more perception than to 
judge people by their talk. 

WEBBER 

But there doesn't seem to be anything else, these days, 
to judge by. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That is true — but I have an idea that just as the things 
most worth doing are the things we don't do, the things 
most worth saying are the things we don't say. ... I 
have faith in young love. . 

[64] 



VI 

DEBUTANTES 



MRS. FLETCHER 

{Who has an henotic effect on age and youth.') I sup- 
pose you unattached young men are interested, these days, 
in the debutantes? 

WEBBER 

{With the aghast look of a man who makes it a pose to 
prefer experienced rvomen) They are upon us again, are 
they not? 

ALEXANDER 

{Regretfully) Well, I doubt it. . . . We are too 
old for them. They like us under twenty-five; it will be 
years before they get to us — and then it will be only the 
remnants. 

HARSTON 

{A young man of the useful dancing type; at a glance 
he suggests the hall room.) There are a lot of first-rate 
girls coming out this winter. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Cheerfully) There always are! It's the one crop that 
never fails us, no matter what the season may be like. 

[65] 



I N TOWN 

ALEXANDER 

(Ruefully) The worst thing about the debutantes is that 
they make a man feel so old! I don't like being treated 
with respect by fluttering young things ! I'd rather they 
would practise their arts on me. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But they don't need practising; their arts are instinctive. 

HARSTON 

(Reminiscently) I don't know about that, Mrs. Fletcher. 

WEBBER 

Nor I. . . . My idea of instinctive things is that it 
takes a certain amount of living to bring them out. . 
Extreme youth endeavors to be as nearly like everyone else 
as possible; instincts make for peculiarities, and they 
haven't a chance until the young person has lived long 
enough not to be afraid of being individual. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The modern sophisticated person plans all her impulses, 
I will grant you. — I am very tired of carefully consistent 
instincts, for while they may be more interesting they are 
not exciting. ... I like the feeling that almost any- 
thing may happen to young people — and I like the gaiety 
of youth. 

[66] 



DEBUTANTES 

WEBBER 

But the gaiety of youth so often means the vacuity of 
middle age ! 

HARSTON 

There's nothing the matter with the way debutantes look ; 
they are so pretty and so fresh. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And they have such delightful^ tremulous manners, and 
such clear, wide eyes ! 

WEBBER 

Unfortunately a clear eye does not always mean a clear 
mind. . 

ALEXANDER 

No — nor the reverse. . . . It's too bad — but 
brains are not becoming. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The compensation is that it isn't necessary for them to 
be. . . . Only a lovely woman can afford to be without 
them. It is idle to talk of beauty going and leaving brains 
behind. If that were always so, age would never be a 
tragedy, even to the most beautiful. . . . Middle age is 
simply youth grown commonplace. 

ALEXANDER 

But I don't find debutantes emiDty-headed, in these days 

[67] 



I N TOWN 

of college education for the frivolous! The trouble with 
most of *em is that they are young enough to know less. 

WEBBER 

There is a lot of sentimental nonsense talked about 
youth. It is simply unripe age. . . . It is difficult to 
take it and have it agree with you. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But agreement is so stultifying! 

HARSTON 

(^Harking hacky and voicing the belief that is in him) 
Every normal bachelor is interested in debutantes. 

ALEXANDER 

Is it your idea that the eligible bachelor is the normal 
one? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

No indeed; he is as unusual as the dodo. All the elig- 
ible bachelors are married! 

ALEXANDER 

(Speaking from the heart) Because I should say that 
whether he is interested in the debutantes or not, their 
mothers are interested in him. 

[68] 



DEBUTANTES 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But no debutante should be held responsible for her 
mother! That is hitching the cart before the horse. 
(Enter Mrs. Mater. She is a typical American mother. 
Having married young, she has still sufficient youth left 
to equip a less self-effacing woman, but she gladly lavishes 
this, together with everything else, upon her daughter. 
Her clothes are obviously last season's.) 

MRS. mater 
How do you do, Mrs. Fletcher.^ (She glances smilingly 
from Mr. Webber to Mr. Harston, and last, lingeringly, 
at Mr. Alexander) And how many men you have here 
to-day! I wish Daisy had come with me. . . . She is 
making another call — but she is coming here after me, so 
it will be all right, after all. The dear child is so par- 
ticular about her calls ! She appreciates so much the kind 
things people do for her. Now to - day she has gone to see 
Mrs. Hawley — she gave a lovely dinner and theatre party 
for Daisy — you know Daisy's father and Mr. Hawley 
used to be partners — and I think theatre parties are really 
the ideal way of entertaining young people; there is so much 
of the time when they don't have to say anything at all, 
and between the acts they can talk about the play — some- 
times, that is, ... I always tell Daisy to be careful. 
When she is out, and I am sitting at home, I can't help 
wondering if she is talking. . . . The other night I 

[69] 



I N TOWN 

woke her father out of a sound sleep to ask him if he 
thought she would have anything to say to her cotillon 
partner — some cotillons are so long, you know — but he 
didn't comfort me at all; he just reminded me that he had 
a case to try the next day, and after that he wouldn't say 
another word — and I couldn't help thinking that perhaps 
Daisy might have inherited it from him. . . . Of course, 
it doesn't make so much difference if a man doesn't talk — 
a married man — that is — 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Dextrously stemming the tide) Tea, Mrs. Mater? 

MRS. MATER 

Yes, thank you — I'll have it as strong as you can make 
it, because to-night is the Assembly Ball, and I shall have 
to sit up until all hours to hear if Daisy had a good time 
or not — 

WEBBER 

You don't mean to say that you wait up for her every 
night } 

MRS. MATER 

Why, Mr. Webber ! — What's a mother for? I couldn't 
possibly go to bed without seeing how many favors Daisy 
had — and hearing who took her in to supper. . 
I believe in being very particular about things like that — 
very — and besides, I want to know. 

ALEXANDER 

(Conventionally) I am sure Miss Mater keeps you busy. 

[70] 



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It's the one crop that never fails us " 



DEBUTANTES 

MRS. MATER 

(Archly) I shall tell Daisy you said that, Mr. Alex- 
ander! Daisy is so afraid of you. She said, only yes- 
terday — I just happened to be talking about you — "Why 
Mother, Mr. Alexander must be thirty-five years old !" — 
but she likes your motor, Mr. Alexander, she's often noticed 
it. 

HARSTON 

(With bitterness) A man has to be thirty-five to accom- 
plish that. 

MRS. MATER 

And that reminds me, Mr. Harston, you must not take 
Daisy on such long walks ! Last Sunday when she went 
out with you she missed four callers, and I think it is very 
important for a girl to be seen in her home her first season 
— there's nothing more important — except going out, of 
course — 

(Daisy Mater comes into the room. She has always 
been so perfectly dressed that up to the time she was nine- 
teen years old nothing more has been ashed of her,) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

How do you do, Daisy.f* Your mother has just been 
talking about you. 

DAISY MATER 

(Disposing of her parent with all young Americans easy 
scorn) Oh, Mother! — I'd have come with her, Mrs. 

[73] 



I N TOWN 

Fletcher — only she made me go and call on that Mrs. 
Hawley. Mother's a perfect old fuss about calls! I am 
sure no one wants to see me — and I know I don't want to 
see them — but she makes me go out on a round of them 
every day. (She subsides into intimate conversation, and 
much laughter, with Mr. Harston) 

MRS. MATER 

(Eyeing her daughter with the mingling of pride and 
dissatisfaction that nowadays seems to express the maternal 
instinct) I am afraid we must go; Daisy will be late for 
the hair-dresser if we don't hurry. ... I had no idea 
it was so late — I don't suppose you are going our way, 
Mr. Alexander.'' 

ALEXANDER 

(Nobly placing an untouched English muffin on his plate, 
and his plate on the table) Do let me take you home, Mrs. 
Mater. 

MRS. MATER 

(Rising with alacrity) How very good of you! How 
did you happen to think of it? I should never have dreamed 
of such a thing ! — Daisy, Mr. Alexander is going to take 
us home in his motor; I've been telling him you liked it. 

DAISY MATER 

(Carelessly, her attention still with the ineligible dancing 
man) You go with him. Mother — I'm going to walk 
home with Mr. Harston. 

[74] 



DEBUTANTES 

MRS. MATER 

{Feebly) Oh, Daisy ! I wish you would come with me. 

DAISY 

(Shortly) Well, I'm not coming — that's all. Imagine 
riding in a motor this lovel}^ day! I'll be home before 
long. You can make the hair-dresser wait — but you had 
better hurry, or you'll miss him. 

MRS. MATER 

Daisy is right, Mrs. Fletcher — I must go. Come, Mr. 
Alexander. . . . You'll all come to our tea next week, 
won't you.^ (Mrs. Mater and Mr. Alexander depart, 
casting regretful backward looks at the little group by the 
fire) 



[75] 



V I 1 

THE AMERICAN HUSBAND 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(A widow, who is not too young to be sympathetic, nor 
too old to be provocative.) I understand that IVIr. John Cor- 
bin has written a play in vindication of the American hus- 
band. Doesn't that seem ahnost too easy a task for a 
strictly up-to-date playwright who has had all the advan- 
tages of association with the New Theatre.'' It must have 
been a great education to have read all the plays which 
were refused; and he really should have done better. 

WEBBER 

(An optimist where women are concerned.) He's prob- 
ably intending to write a trilogy, beginning with the hus- 
band, working up through the children, and finally, when 
he has learned all that he can from the others, he will 
finish with a spirited plea for the American wife. 

ALEXANDER 

There's nothing he can learn from the American hus- 
band that will help him understand the American wife. 

[71-] 



THE AMERICAN HUSBAND 

MRS. VANE 

{Dispassionately dipping in a conversational oar) Well, 
I think the untrained American husband has many failings. 
He is often a great trial. He will spend all his time in 
his office — not that we women would know what to do 
with him if he didn't — and he won't travel. Of course, I 
will say for him that he works so hard that he often dies 
young — and Europe is full of American widows. 

ALEXANDER 

{Who fancies that whatever he may be ignorant of, he 
knows the value of money. He does not realise that he 
overestimates, or, in fact, that with such a subject, such a 
thing could happen) They are left with possibilities of 
letters of credit — you'll have to admit that. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Yes, and his wife has seen so little of him during his 
life that she can't be expected to miss him very poignantly 
after his death. 

WEBBER 

The modern couple must be inured to separation. I won- 
der if the assurance that there are no partings in Heaven 
appeals to the average benedict.^ 

ALEXANDER 

{With heavy pleasantry) There's one thing that bal- 
ances it, at any rate ; there are no tickers in the other place 

[77] 



I NT O W N 

— and while a man can live without his wife if he can fol- 
low the stock market, when he loses that he must have some 
excitement. 

MRS. VANE 

(Dreamily) And a woman must have something at hand 
to lose her patience over. Husbands are really very con- 
venient for that. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder if the more devoted couples are most linked by 
the things they do agree upon or the things they don't f 

ALEXANDER 

By the things they don't, of course. There's nothing so 
intimate as a good fuss, and there's no one so necessary 
to a chap as the man he isn't afraid of having around 
when he loses his temper. Having a wife must be like 
having a punching bag; a man can work up all his argu- 
ments on her in private, and then stun some fellow at his 
club with 'em. I've often envied the married men when 
I've heard 'em holding forth. 

MRS. VANE 

But I think the reason married men talk so much when 
they are away is that they have so little opportunity when 
they are at home. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It is work or be worked, apparently. In that way, mat- 

[78] 



THE AMERICAN HUSBAND 

rimony isn't so different from any other combination of 
people. The unfortunate thing about it is that our men 
find it is less trouble to allow us women to take an unfair 
advantage; that is modern chivalry. 

MRS. VANE 

{Her sex loyalty aroused) Well, I don't believe in sym- 
pathizing with men. I think it is a very bad thing for the 
American husband to be pitied ; the first thing you know he'll 
get it into his head that he is ill used, and then what should 
wc do.? He likes to indulge us. It isn't that he is un- 
selfish — he does what he wants to, just as anyone does. 
He works because he likes work, just as women play be- 
cause they like play. {She settles herself comfortably in 
her chair and drinks her tea with the righteous air of one 
who has delivered her mind) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Some women play because they haven't the temperament 
to be idle — and because the men have left them nothing 
to do. 

WEBBER 

Those are the women to whom play is dangerous. 

ALEXANDER 

{Simply voicing the belief that is in him) Of course, if 

[79] 



I N TOWN 

a man cares anything about his wife he wants her to be 
free from any kind of bother. 

WEBBER 

{Thoughtfully) Possibly that sort of husband is rob- 
bing his wife of her birthright. 

MRS. VANE 

Well, I am sure, Mr. Webber, that any woman likes to 
be spared trouble. 

WEBBER 

It is that point of view that the foreign-born object to. 
They consider it unsettling, and a bad influence. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well, if I were an Englishman and accustomed to being 
king in my own castle, I shouldn't encourage any intimacy 
between my wife and one of our untrammeled country- 
women; she might open the eyes of even the most pains- 
takingly blinded. 

ALEXANDER 

That's all very well, but the foreigner wants to remember 
that the very qualities he talks against in a husband, are 
the ones he finds most convenient in a father-in-law. He 
likes him to be open-handed. 

MRS. VANE 

And of course only a very foolish woman expects a for- 

[80] 






\ ' 



i^!V 



.^ > I 



sv 



A woman must have something at hand to lose 
her patience over" 






THE AMERICAN HUSBAND 

eigner to give up doing what he wants to in order to please 
her; she should know perfectly well that he won't, and she 
doesn't marry him for that, anyway. With the sort of 
husband she has been brought up on, she naturally expects 
her rights. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The only fortunate thing is that her rights seem so often 
to be his wrongs. 

WEBBER 

The cultivated American woman is a model we all ac- 
claim, j ust at present. We feel that nothing is too good for 
her, and — (he carefully abstains from looking at Mrs. 
Fletcher) — I fancy that nothing is. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I am not so sure. I have a feeling that the cultivated 
American woman is greatly overrated. She is made much 
of for thinking the same thoughts — arriving at the same 
conclusions — that we take for granted in a man. 

MRS. VANE 

{To rvhom externals are more than skin deep.) But, my 
dear, I think it is very much to a woman's credit if she 
thinks at all — a pretty woman, that is. In my young days 
only the plain and dowdy ones ever attempted such a thing, 
and of course, nobody cared whether they did or not ! {She 
bridles with the unmistakable complacency of the rvoman 
who has — or has once had — good looks) 

[83] 



IN T O W N 

MRS; FLETCHER 

Well, customs change, but human nature remains sur- 
prisingly the same. One must, be either well dressed or 
well educated, even in these enlightened days; there is no 
middle path. . . . But when it is a question of a 
woman's choosing which of the two to follow, it really 
seems as though the one were as rewarding as the other. 

ALEXANDER 

I have a theory that good clothes help a woman to marry. 

AYEBBER 

If that is so, education helps her to make matrimony a 
success. 

ALEXANDER 

The success of matrimony seems to me to depend on how 
much of an income the husband can earn. If the Ameri- 
can man, in any walk of life, can't manage to give the 
American woman more than she should reasonably expect, 
he'd better leave marrying to the bank presidents. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The only trouble with the bank presidents is that there 
are so few of them. The supply isn't nearly equal to the 
demand. ' ^ 

MRS. VANE ■ 

It sometimes seems that the only men with futures are 
those with pasts — financial pasts, I mean — and opulent 

[84] 



THE AMERICAN HUSBAND 

futures. It is really a very difficult matter to decide which 
of the nice boys yau see about, is going to become success- 
ful enough to give a girl all the things that she is going to 
want, these days. And, of course, a mother naturally wishes 
her daughter to have everything that everyone else has. 

WEBBER 

(Acrimoniously/, with a thought to his own slender purse) 
Yes, indeed. What use else is being an American .f* Un- 
limited aspirations for unnecessary possessions has become 
our most evident hall-mark! 

ALEXANDER 

A man doesn't care so much about possessions — as a 
rule. Of course, he likes to have money enough to buy a 
motor, and feel free to take an afternoon off for a baseball 
game now and then, and for bridge at the club ; but most 
of the things he wants are for his family. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The American husband is an everlasting marvel to me in 
the complete unselfishness of his providing. There isn't 
another breed in the world that so generously pours all the 
reward of its labor into the incompetent hands of untrained 
women to spend. 

MRS. VANE 

(Impatiently) But, my dear, the American man doesn't 
know how to spend money ; he can only earn it. 

[85] 



I N T O W N 

ALEXANDER 

It's another case of "hang your clothes on a hickory limb, 
but don't go near the water/* when you learn how to swim, 
isn't it? I don't see how a man is ever going to learn how 
to spend, when it is all taken out of his hands. 

MRS. VANE 

(Easili/) Oh, well, he has no taste anyway. 

WEBBER 

I'll have to admit that the average American is not much 
of an aesthete. 

MRS. VANE 

He is SO very inferior to his wife, isn't he.^ I often 
wonder that there are not even more divorces than there are, 
M'hen you think of all the very delightful women who are 
thro\»Ti away on stupid business men. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

We have all of us read Ibsen and modern English fiction 
— that is true. Mother — but very few of us have ever done 
anything with the cultivation we are so complacent about. 
I must say that I am enough of an American to respect the 
person who gets results, no matter if he is rather boring at 
dinner. Half the time he is tired, poor dear ! 

WEBBER 

You don't, then, approve of the modern home where the 

[86] 



THE AMERICAN HUSBAND 

Engineering Magazine is lost to sight, and the English 
Review is flaunted? 

ALEXANDER 

It makes no difference whether she approves of it or not, 
it is the modern American home. Our generation has de- 
veloped it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well, I may be either old-fashioned or very advanced; 
it's either early Victorian or late Georgian; but I have a 
great admiration for the man who does, and none at all 
for the woman who — doesn't. 

WEBBER 

But don't you believe that the woman of the future will 
be fully as useful a member of society as her husband? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I doubt it. She will be so proud of being able to work 
that she won't get much done. And, besides that, I find 
the equipped woman is often tiresome. One of the best 
things about an education for men is that it teaches them 
to treat serious subjects lightly; and one of the worst 
things about an education for women is that it teaches 
them to treat light subjects seriously. When, as a sex, we 
are really as well prepared for achievement as you men 
are — there will be no enduring us. The much-abused 
American husband will be a well-spring of wit compared to 
us. 

[87] 



VIII 

WOMAN AND SUPERWOMAN 



MRS. FLETCHER 

(A woman who appreciates the value of feminine avo- 
cations.) Have you had a busy day, Miss Bane? 

MISS BANE 

(Miss E. Lindley Bane is the kind of person one hears 
spoken of as ** energetic." She is a college graduate, a 
business woman, a suffragist, and a believer in the ability 
of her sex. She is mildly amused) Oh, I am always busy. 
To-day from twelve to two I was speaking at the Noonday 
Glub, and I couldn't eat. 

ALEXANDER 

(With increased deference) I say, it's awfully good of 
you to lose your lunch talking to working girls. 

OPDYKE 

(He is a collector of beautiful things, a person of ex- 
quisite tastes, shrinking sensitiveness, and frail physique. 
He is to be counted upon to be better at intuitions than at 
baseball, and he wears clothes that would make the most 
extreme "hobble" skirt seem a conservative garment) Yes, 

[88] 



WOMAN AND SUPERWQMAN 

indeed; it must be wonderful to bring beauty into their 
lives — to teach them what the gentle life means. 

MISS BANE 

(Placing her cup on the table and suddenly shooting her 
manly rvhite cuffs from her severe coat sleeves) I wasn't 
trying to teach them about the gentle life; I don't know 
anything of it ; it would bore me to death — I was trying 
'to make insurgents of them, but it's hard to insurge on six 
dollars a week ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

What did you speak to them about ? 

MISS BANE 

The vote. I put it to them that they couldn't expect to 
better their condition unless they succeeded in getting the 
franchise. 

OPDYKE 

But the polls are sometimes so rough. Miss Bane. I 
couldn't bear to think of a lady subjecting herself to the 
ordeal of going to them. And when I recall some of the 
places where political meetings are held — (he breaks off, 
shudderingly, as one rvho would continue were it not for the 
presence of the weaker sex) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But I thought that the modern woman might go any- 
where, and say anything. 

[89] 



I N TOWN 

ALEXANDER 

{With easy assurance) She can go anywhere the men 
will let her go, and say anything they like to hear, just as 
always. 

OPDYKE 

I don't agree with you, Alexander. No woman — no 
lady, that is — would think of consulting a man to see how 
far she might go. There's such a thing in the world as 
feminine instinct, I should hope. 

Miss BANE 

(Cruelly) If there is, it is not in the feminine sex — at 
any rate, not under thirty-five. The modern woman — 
{decidedly) — has no time for femininity. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That is a dangerous boast. If her femininity should 
suddenly surprise her, how wretchedly unprepared she 
would be. 

ALEXANDER 

{Comfortably) Every woman is feminine enough when 
she comes to recognize her master. 

OPDYKE 

Good heavens, Alexander! What a responsibility you 
would thrust upon men ! Imagine being the master of the 
modern woman! How very uncomfortable one would be. 

[90] 



WOMAN AND SUPERWOMAN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It would be like an amateur trying to control an aero- 
plane. 

MISS BANE 

{Carelessly, her mind on the selection of a cake) My 
dear Mrs. Fletcher, how much importance you give him. 
It would be like the tail trying to soar above the kite. 

ALEXANDER 

{With the huffiness of the conventional man in the face 
of belittlement) It's all very well to talk like that, but 
where would you women be without us men, I'd like to 
know? Where would you get the money to live on.^ 

MISS BANE 

{Lightly, as one discussi^ig a subject too elementary to 
seriously engross the really executive woman) Why, we 
should earn it, of course. 

ALEXANDER 

{Truculently) Ever tried it? 

MISS BANE 

Tried what? 

ALEXANDER 

Supporting yourself. 

MISS BANE 

{Amused) Why, I've been out of college for six years. 

[91] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And you have been making money ever since then? 

MISS BANE 

Of course. Just because my father happens to be a 
railroad president is no reason why I shouldn't have the fun 
of working. The first year, when I was studying sten- 
ography and double entry, I had some help from him, but 
after that I had no trouble at all. 

OPDYKE 

Dear me ! It is always a surprise to a man to see what 
a really clever woman can accomplish. 

MISS BANE 

I've taken a year as a stenographer, so that I might un- 
derstand business, and I've established a tea room that is 
a real money-maker, and I've served my turn as factory 
inspector, and I've worked in a sweat-shop and written it 
up ; and in a department store, for the same reason. And, 
of course, all the time I've been publishing articles on the 
conditions of the working woman. 

ALEXANDER 

{Disagreeably) I find the condition of the idle woman 
so much more interesting. 

[92] 



WOMAN AND SUPERWOMAN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Sighing with the becoming satisfaction of inexperience) 
But sometimes I think she is worse ofF than her driven 
sisters. 

OPDYKE 

You women are so energetic. I wonder at you. {Hope- 
fully introducing an aesthetic topic) To-day while Miss 
Bane was speaking to those working girls I was poking 
about the shops, and I found the most lovely piece of old 
fillet lace. If you had picked it up in the rag market at 
Venice, Mrs. Fletcher, you would have considered your- 
self fortunate. It is very beautiful, and really old. 

MISS BANE 

{Putting aesthetics in its place) It was made under the 
most atrocious conditions, I have no doubt. 

OPDYKE 

{Appealingly) But we don't want to think how beauti- 
ful things are made, do we. Miss Bane.^ It is enough for 
them to exist. 

Miss BANE 

{Incisively) The more one knows about conditions, the 
less one cares for what they produce. 

OPDYKE 

{Wistfully) How cynical you women are! 

[93] 



I N TOWN 

MISS BANE 

Cynicism is the payment for clear-sightedness. The 
sentimentalist is only a person who habitually looks at the 
world through rose-colored spectacles. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But rose-color has its use, Miss Bane. There is no dawn 
without it. 

ALEXANDER 

And it's a becoming light; without it matrimony would 
fall off, you'd find. 

MISS BANE 

Oh, it has its sentimental uses, of course. 

OPDYKE 

And sentiment is so necessary, isn't it.f^ 

Miss BANE 

You men seem to find it so. Now I am unable to see 
why a marriage can't be a perfectly reasonable affair. 
Other people's experiences have shown us that that is the 
sensible way to look at it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But, Miss Bane, other people's experiences, however in- 
teresting they may be, have nothing to do with our own. 
They teach us what has happened — never what may. 
Only time can do that. 

[94] 



WOMAN AND SUPERWOMAN 

MISS BANE 

Wellj I don't agree with you. I think, as a sex, Mrs. 
Fletcher, we all demand too much. You hear women say- 
ing that they want husbands who will sympathize with 
them, and understand their work, and help them to their 
careers. Now I think that is all nonsense. Why should we 
be so unreasonable as to expect it.^ We know what men 
are. If a man has enough interests of his own to keep him 
contented and occupied, that is all we should ask. 

ALEXANDER 

(Glowering) So you wouldn't expect him to be the 
housekeeper } 

MISS BANE 

(Glancing pointedly from Alexander to Opdyhe) Well, 

possibly in another generation 1 must be off, Mrs. 

Fletcher. 

OPDYKE 

(Eager iy) Do let me go with you. I love to hear about 
your work, and I am sure you must find me an inspiring 
listener. And I should like to show you that piece of lace ; 
I want to convince you that some things justify any con- 
ditions. Good-bye, Mrs. Fletcher. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Good-bye. (Mischievously) Take good care of Miss 

[95] 



I N TOWN 

BanC;, won't you, Mr. Opdyke? (Miss Bane and Mr. Op- 
dyke go out amid general laughter.^ 

ALEXANDER 

(Fuming) What's the matter with this generation, I'd 
like to know.^ 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Soothingly) Oh, let us have our simple causes, Mr. 
Alexander. Underneath all this talk about equality of the 
sexes is human nature, and sooner or later that is apt to 
make us toe the line. 

ALEXANDER 

And a good thing, too. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder.'' 



[96] 



1 X 

CHILDREN 



The reader is ashed to picture a living room that shows 
signs of having lived. The couch is spiritless, and 
the cushions have lost their freshness. The tables 
are laden with photographs of children in various 
stages of their development, and the piano is lit- 
tered with the impedimenta of musical education. 

Mrs. Fletcher is discovered waiting for her hostess to 
descend. Enter Mrs. Parent. She is one of those 
unfortunate persons who are all mother, 

MRS. PARENT 

I am so glad to see you ! I hope you will excuse my 
keeping you waiting. I was just in the midst of a little 
argument with my little Willy — he is such a very bright 
child that he is difficult to manage^ sometimes. You know 
how it is with brilliant children .f* His teacher often says 
that she is simply discouraged with him^ he is so bright — 
but then I think that teachers seldom understand children! 
It really takes a mother to get the best out of a child; I 
often tell Willy's teacher so, when she complains of him. 
{Enter Eddie and Elly Parent, twins, aged five. They 
linger in the doorway eyeing Mrs. Fletcher with sidelong 



[97] 



I N TOWN 

glances. At that distance they are really as alluring as 
their mother thinks them.) I hope you don't object to hav- 
ing the children come down while we have tea? It is so 
good for them to see strangers. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(With the enthusiasm of one to whom children are a 
novelty) No, indeed, I like it. How do you do, darlings.^ 

MRS. PARENT 

(Sternly) Elly, shake hands with Mrs. Fletcher. (She 
beams upon her approaching offspring) Mercy! Don't 
forget 3'our curtsey! (To Mrs. Fletcher) I don't know 
what has come over the child; she makes one every morn- 
ing to the man who mows the grass — and now she won't 
do it for her mother's friends. (Elly bobs solemnly be- 
fore Mrs. Fletcher) That's better — Eddie ! Where is 
your bow.^ What does Mother teach you a bow for? (Ed- 
die bends his proud head with all the sullenness of metic- 
idous obedience) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Ingratiatingly) I like little children. 

EDDIE 

(Looking her sternly eye to eye) I don't like you. 

MRS. PARENT 

Oh, Eddie, darling! That wasn't kind. Mother's boy 

[98] 



CHILDREN 

should always try tx) be kind. See^ the poor lady's feelings 
are hurt. {This appeal having produced nothing in the 
way of hu7fian softness in Eddie, Mrs. Parent abruptly 
tries another avenue) She has a cunning little yellow cana- 
ry at lier liouse; perhaps some day if you are a good boy, 
slie will let you see it. (Eddie, declining definitely to be 
interested in a hypothetical little yellow canary, privateers 
off into the corners of the room, accompanied by his sister. 
To Mrs. Fletcher) I suppose you are very gay. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Oh no, not very. 

{The tea is brought in, and Elly and Eddie circle closer, 
their round eyes on toast and cake) 

MRS. PARENT 

{With an evident effort to ignore them) Of course, you 
do so much all the time. (Elly approaches the table, and 
with her innocent gaze fixed on her mother's face, she ven- 
tures a raid on the sugar bowl) Elly Parent ! Don't 
touch that sugar ! Hasn't Mother often told you you 
mustn't? {The corners of Elly's mouth draw down, and 
her eyes fill) . . Mercy! don't cry! There! — Take 
some if you want it. {To Mrs. Fletcher) I always won- 
der how you stand it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Bewildered) Stand what? 

[99] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. PARENT 

Why, going out so much. Of course, my life is so tran- 
quil. (Enter Willy Parent, a thirteen - year - old hope) 
Willy, you will be late for your music lesson, unless you 
hurry. {To Mrs. Fletcher) I don't understand where 
that child gets his tardiness — I am never late. . . . 
Of course, his father's mother was one of the most dilatory 
persons I ever saw — her living so long was perfectly typ- 
ical of it. . . . Now, I shan't do that — I shall 
wear out; I often tell my husband so. (Sighs) What 
is it, Willy? 

willy 

C'n I have some cake? 

MRS. parent 
Well, just a little piece — if you hurry. . . . 
Your coat doesn't look very nice, Willy. Why did you 
wear that one? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Interposing in Willy^s behalf) Do you take music 
lessons? How nice! (Willy, occupied in munching, con- 
tents himself with a stolid stare) 

MRS. parent 
(Nervously averting attention from a child too old to 
be publicly rebuked rvith safety) Are — are you going to 
Europe next Spring? 

[lOO] 



CHILDREN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Surprised) Why no, I don't expect to — 

MRS. PARENT 

Willy, hurry up ! I never saw such dirty hands ! 
(Willy crams down cake) Why, Willy ! 

WILLY 

{Defiantly) Well, you told me to hurry. 

MRS. PARENT 

You can hurry like a little gentleman, I should hope ! 
(Willy stamps torvards door) Willy! Why, Willy! you've 
forgotten to kiss Mother ! (Willy pauses, and indulges in 
a moment's irresolute rebellion before he returns to drop a 
reluctant salute on his mother's offered cheeJe) 

willy 
(With relief) There! • 

MRS. PARENT 

That's better ! (Ea:it Willy, not in the most perfect 
frame of mind for music, unless of the variety intended to 
soothe the savage breast. To Mrs. Fletcher) I am very 
particular about things like that. I am a believer in a 
mother's softening influence upon her sons. ... I 
don't know what I shall do about Willy's manners ; he is so 
bright — that is the trouble ; if he were an ordinary child 
it would be easy enough to manage him. 

[101] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Vaguely and comfortingly) Yes, indeed! 

MRS. PARENT 

Have you been to the opera yet.'' I want to go, but I 
haven't managed to get there. — Eddie, don't take such big 
mouthfuls! Aren't you ashamed to have Mother's friend 
see you? {To Mrs. Fletcher) His nurse is so careless 
with him ; he is a sweet child naturally — he has a lovely 
disposition, really. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I am sure of it. 

MRS. PARENT 

Elly, don't lean against Mrs. Fletcher in that way, — 
you'll make her spill her tea. (Elly, startled, hacks away, 
into Mrs. Fletcher's right arm, and the tea is spilled) 
There ! now see what you have done ! I am so sorry, Mrs. 
Fletcher ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Meretriciously) It's nothing, really. . . . Did you 
know that Elsie Worthington is engaged.'* 

MRS. PARENT 

Do tell me all about the man. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Surreptitiously mopping her shirt) Well, he's very 
bright, they say, and — 

[ 102] 



CHILDREN 

MRS. PARENT 

Eddie, if you will take such big mouthfuls Mother will 
have to send you out of the room — and you such a big 
boy! {To Mrs. Fletcher) I haven't ever met him yet. 
{To Elly) Elly, come here and let Mother tie your hair 
ribbon. {To Mrs. Fletcher) It seems as if nothing in 
this house were well done unless I did it myself! He's a 
good deal older than she, isn't he ? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Yes, he must be, he is — (Elly approaches her mother, 
and whispers in her ear) 

MRS. PARENT 

Can you wear your jDink dress to the party next week? 
Does that have to be decided now.^ (Elly immediately 
flies danger signals) Well, — I don't care, — wear it if 
you want to. {To Mrs. Fletcher) She will have lovely 
wedding presents. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Bewildered) Who will? 

MRS. PARENT 

{Mahing an unsuccessful effort to fence Eddie from the 
sugar howl) Why, Elsie Worthington. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I suppose so; she is so well liked — 

[lOS] 



I N TOWN 

ELLY 

C'n I have some more sugar? 

MRS. PARENT 

More sugar! No, indeed! 

ELLY 

{Tearfully) Well, Eddie did. 

MRS. PARENT 

I don't care if he did — you can't. {To Mrs. Fletcher) 
Everyone seems to get married, — there's scarcely a month 
without a wedding present — Eddie, give your little sister 
half of your sugar — mind Mother, Eddie, — instantly. 
(Eddie^ after a perceptible pause of silent insurrection, 
obeys. To Mrs. Fletcher) EUy and Eddie are twins, 
you know, and I often think the bond between them is 
stronger than it is between other children. They want to 
share everything. {A sudden uproar from Elly causes 
Mrs. Fletcher to start nervously in her chair) Elly, what 
is it? 

ELLY 

{Her voice brohen by sobs, but still piercing) Eddie 
took my sugar ! 

MRS. PARENT 

Eddie, give your little sister her sugar at once ! Do you 
hear Mother? 

[ 104] 



CHILDREN 

EDDIE 

{Swallowing with terrifying violence) It's gone. 

MRS. PARENT 

(To Elly) Never mind, precious, — you shall have 
another piece. . . . (To Mrs. Fletcher) Oh, — 
you're not going? Why, we haven't had any talk at all. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I am SO sorry, I must. 

MRS. PARENT 

Well, I hope that tea didn't stain your dress. . . . 
Elly, say good-bye to Mrs. Fletcher — don't forget to make 
your curtsey — Eddie, make your bow. . . . I'm 
sorry you must go. Good-bye. 



[105] 



X 

THE GENTLER SEX 



MRS. WOOD 
{Middle-aged, philanthropic, and breathless) Do I look 
terribly disheveled? {In an unfortunate effort to bring 
order out of chaos, she re-implants a hat pin, and firmly 
fixes her hat rather more upon one side than it was before.) 
Such a day as I have had. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

What have you been doing.'' 

MRS. WOOD 

It is much simpler to tell you what I haven't. 

MRS. VANE 

{A woman who occupies herself without any particular 
accomplishment. She folds her hands with some ostenta- 
tion) I think we women are all very much too busy. 

MISS STUART 

{She is youngish, businesslike, and excessively neat. 
She is so extremely executive that she very nearly gives the 

[106] 




t K 



Mrs. Vane 



THE GENTLER SEX 

impression of being talented.) I think it is good for us to 
be busy. Why should we, with the same inheritance of 
energy as the American man, do nothing? . . . May I 
have my tea very strong, please — really quite black ? 
(Mrs. Fletcher pours cup) Thank you — that is quite 
perfect. 

MRS. VANE 

My dear, how do your nerves stand it.^* 

Miss STUART 

(Lightly) Oh they don't, of course. I am fidgety and 
I don't sleep — but I am never bored. My idea of the 
worst thing that can happen to a woman is to have time 
hanging on her hands. . . . Tell us what you have 
been doing, Mrs. Wood — and when you have done I think 
I can agree to equal it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Let us all, for the good of our souls, confess our sins of 
commission. . . . We have none of omission, I am 
sure — we modern Chicago women ! 

MRS. WOOD 

Well, I was up very early, and had my breakfast ahead 
of John and the children — I find that quite restful — and 
I wanted to get away before people began telephoning me. 
You know how that is — when the telephone once starts 
ringing, there is no escape. 

[109] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE AND MISS STUART 

Yes, indeed — we know. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Every woman knows ! 

MRS. WOOD 

And at nine o'clock I was at a committee meeting over 
town. It was important — we were discussing a new milk 
supply for the Orphans' Home — and it lasted an hour. 
Even then I left before it was over, because I had to pre- 
side at a hospital board meeting. We have a hundred 
thousand dollars to raise before we can hope to build, and 
we decided how to go about that to-day. Before luncheon 
the treasurer and I rounded up the bank presidents, and 
persuaded them to subscribe, as a beginning. 

MRS. VANE 

{Brightly introducing a lighter topic) I lunched at 
the Blackstone. It was very amusing; everyone was there. 

MRS. WOOD 

(Relentlessly) Well, I didn't. I lunched at a depart- 
ment store, because it was the nearest and quickest. That 
is my only consideration, these days. 

•MRS. FLETCHER 

And then what? 

[no] 



T H E G E N T L E R S E X 

MRS. WOOD 

Well, then I did take the time to buy a new hat; my 
husband told me I really must. . . . Clothes are such 
a bore! 

MRS. VANE 

(With the horror of one listening to a sacrilege) Oh;, 
Mrs. Wood! 

MRS. WOOD 

And then I went to a lecture on tenement conditions at 
the Fine Arts Building. I wanted to see if the man had 
anything new to say, but he hadn't. ... It was one 
of those lectures where the tenements are discovered to 
debutantes. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But so few people have anything new to say, Mrs. Wood. 
. . . Everything, after all, has been said. 

MISS STUART 

That's only what you literary people think! There are 
plenty of new things to say if you will interest yourself 
in results instead of in thought. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder.^ You almost tempt me. 

MISS STUART 

(Ably) You Still have at least an hour and a half to 
account for, Mrs. Wood. 

[hi] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. WOOD 

(Triumphantly) I went from the lecture to see the plans 
for the new hospital building, and spent a half hour over 
that. Then I ran in to the Visiting Nurses' offices to look 
up a case, and after that I stopped long enough to buy 
some hair ribbons and some shoe strings — I am not a be- 
liever in neglecting my children — and here I am. 
May I have a second cup, please? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

You may, indeed. 

Miss STUART 

(Briskli/) Well, I was up early, too, and before break- 
fast I had a ride in the park. Then I came home and 
dressed, and at half after nine I was at my Italian lesson. 
At eleven I went to the Morning Club, and spoke in a 
discussion on the "Leisure Class," and at one I was at 
the model flat on Halsted Street, teaching little Polish girls 
how to cook oatmeal. 

MRS. VANE 

But, my dear, how did you know how? 

MISS STUART 

Oh, I looked it up in a cook book on the way over, in 
the car. ... I couldn't get away from there until 
almost three — oatmeal is so surprisingly slow — and then 
I hurried home and outlined an article on "Practical 

[112] 



T H E G E N T L E R S E X 

Gardening for Graduates," that I had promised to write 
for the Bryn Mawr paper. After that I made up my 
treasurer's accounts for the Lunch Club, and wrote out my 
secretary's minutes for the Literary Club, and then I de- 
cided that I must have tea and conversation, so I ran over 
here. To-night I am going out to dinner and the theatre, 
and I must finish my gardening article when I get home, 
but I can do it easily enough, because I don't sleep much, 
anyway. . . . There's my day. 

MRS. VANE 

And I thought I had been busy, 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Tell us your troubles, Mother. 

MRS. VANE 

I did my housekeeping first ; I am very old-fashioned — 
my house won't run itself, I find. I don't see how you 
young women manage, when you give so little time to it. 
To-day I even went to market. {She pauses in conscious 
self-complacency ) 

MRS. WOOD 

Well, I am not a believer in going to market. Whenever 
I do I am tempted by artichokes and early asparagus, and 
extravagant things like that which never come into my 
head if I simply order beans over the telephone. 

[us] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

^Stiffly) From there I went over town, and I did a 
great deal — really a very great deal — of shopping. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The bundles have been coming all day. They are moun- 
tain high! 

MRS. VANE 

I suppose so. ... A great many will have to be re- 
turnedj of course. . . . You know how it is, after a 
clerk has had all the bother of showing you something — 
it is much easier to take it than to say you won't have it. 
It is so perfectly simple just to send it back again for 
credit. 

MRS. WOOD 

And is that all } 

MRS, VANE 

No, indeed. I lunched at the Blackstone, and after that 
I went home with Mrs. Rand, to play bridge. I won the 
prize; a really lovely cretonne desk set. The only trouble 
is that I haven't a place to use it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Never mind. Mother. There is always the possibility of 
giving away bridge prizes. Christmas is coming! 

MISS STUART 

And what have you been doing, Mrs. Fletcher? 

[114] 



THE GENTLER SEX 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I? Oh, I never do anything! I have spent the day in 
trying to find some woman to play with — but I failed. 
Not one of my friends was playing! I went out to lunch- 
eon, and met rather an interesting Frenchman, and I 
dropped in at an exhibition of pictures — that is all. 

Miss STUART 

That isn't much of a day, I must say. 

MRS. VANE 

{Her maternal feathers ruffled) I think we women 
shouldn't be so rushed. 

MRS. WOOD 

Well, there are just so many things to be done. Who 
would take them up if we dropped them? 

MRS. VANE 

{Voicing the ideal of the woman of her generation, and 
the man of all time) Women should stop at home. . . . 
They should try to be tranquil and beautiful — not busy 
and successful. We are all just like the men these days — 
there is no difference at all. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Ah yes, there is. There is one tremendous difference 
between a woman with a job and a man with one. 

[115] 



I N TOWN 

MISS STUART 

What is it? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The woman loves to discuss hers at dinner, and the man 
does not. Enter Mr. Webber and Mr. Alexander) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

How do you do, lords of creation? 

WEBBER 

It is a refreshing thing to find so many ladies gathered 
peacefully about a tea table, isn't it, Alexander? 

ALEXANDER 

Wlien a man comes up from town, and finds you all sit- 
ting around like this — with nothing to do but talk — 
he realizes (gloomily) that life isn't all work. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(With a feminine woman's ready sympathy for a man s 
troubles) Have you had a hard day? 

ALEXANDER 

(Reluctantly) Not very. There's nothing doing in the 
market just now. A man turned up from New York, and 
I had to take him out to lunch, and put him on his train. 
. . . He's just gone. 

[lie] 



THE GENTLER SEX 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{To Webber) And you? 

WEBBER 

Oh, fairly so. I've been trying all day to get hold of 
an idea that wouldn't come. . . . Most annoying! 
. . . May we have some tea } — while we drink it sup- 
pose you tell us hard-working men how you have all been 
amusing yourselves. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Thoughtfully pouring the tea) No, on the whole, 
I think we won't. ... 



[H7] 



XI 

MODERN FICTION 



MRS. FLETCHER 

Miss Aline, may I give you some tea? 

MISS ALINE 

{A young woman whose chief aim in life is to read new 
books before the reviewers do, and to display upon her 
table the English editions of those books the American 
editions of which are still in press.) I will let you fill it 
again. {She passes her cup) I really am dependent on 
it. Luncheon I am indiiFerent to, and dinner is mainly 
important as a conversational opportunity, but tea is my 
real staff of life! 

ALEXANDER 

{Who asks from talk a relaxation merely) By Jove! 
{He silently plies her first with the buttered toast and then 
the cake) 

WEBBER 

{To whom a mental state is more important than a phys- 
ical one) "Count that day lost whose low descending sun 
shines not upon" — a certain number of cups consumed — 
is that it, Miss Aline? 

[118] 



MODERN FICTION 

MISS AUNE 

{Complacently) It is the most meritorious bad habit I 
have. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Do you remember, only a few years ago, when, to the 
average American, the afternoon tea of the English novel 
was an unattainable sophistication? . . . Of course I 
don't mean unattainable to us ; present company is always 
sophisticated and never average. 

WEBBER 

I think Henry James brought it within reach of the 
Middle West. His casual references to serving it on lawns 
made a mere drawing-room seem simple. 

ALEXANDER 

(With dismal reflections on various first chapters hope- 
fully plunged into) I didn't know he ever made anything 
seem that ! 

MISS ALINE 

Novels about English people have done a great work in 
civilizing us Americans 

WEBBER 

They did in the earlier days, when our manners were 
forming — and when we turned to Emerson and Brook 
Farm for our morals. I imagine that while our fathers 



[119] 



I N TOWN 

were delighted to read of Vauxhall, and intrigues, and 
royal drawing rooms — all were equally removed from the 
pioneer — they clung at the same time to the belief that 
early to bed and early to rise brought a man all the re- 
ward a reasonable being might ask. It diverted them, but 
it didn't demoralize them. . . . We of this generation 
are different; we have outgrown our moralists, and the 
mirror England holds before her society does not reflect us. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

No, it only upsets us. We recognize our characteristics, 
and don't take into consideration the difference in our situa- 
tions. 

WEBBER 

We are just far enough behind England in our develop- 
ment to feel, when we read her modern writers, that we are 
being interpreted for the first time. They discover us to 
ourselves. 

ALEXANDER 

{Voicing the intolerance of the uncomprehending) I'd 
hate to think that we were like the people the English 
Johnnies write about. . . . Not that I read their 
books; they're too gloomy. . . . They're disagreeable. 
. . . They're unwholesome. . . . When I read I 
want to be amused; that's what a man gives the time to it 
for. 

[120] 



MODERN FICTION 

MISS ALINE 

{Severely) You forget^ Mr. Alexander, that literature is 
the most serious thing in the world. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Kindly attempting to draw the fire) And yet the man 
who takes himself seriously cannot produce it — he can 
only write books. 

ALEXANDER 

{Sulkily) There are so many books written each year 
that it must be a simple trick if a man has the knack of it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

You'll be trying it yourself soon ! . . . Why not go 
in for producing a "best seller/' Mr. Alexander.'' 

Miss ALINE 

What a humiliation that would be ! 

ALEXANDER 

{Defiantly) Well, if I ever did try to write a story it 
would be about the kind of people and the kind of things 
we all know all about. I like to read about what I like to 
do — about house parties — and polo matches — and 
motor trips — not about people who haven't enough to eat, 
and who can't pay their rent, and who don't do anything — 
or go anywhere — but j ust sit at home and think ! 

[121] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

There is something in what you say, Mr. Alexander. 
. . . I can't answer for the men, but I imagine that 
more women of the reading classes die of thinking than of 
action. 

MISS ALINE 

And action is, after all, very old school, nowadays, and 
I think the subject matters strangely little. . . . It is 
the treatment that is of value, because that is real person- 
ality, and, of course, personality is nothing but style, and — 
{triumphantly) — you will, naturally, admit that style is 
the really important thing. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder if we are as academic as that? 



ALEXANDER 

(Stubbornly clinging, as to a life raft, to his one instinct- 
ive idea) I don't know anything about that; haven't 
thought of it since I was in college, and flunked English C ; 
but what I want to know is, why the chaps that write books 
don't use their style on the best people. I am tired of 
hearing about the poor and the abused. If I want to find 
out about 'em I can read a United Charities report. . . . 
Why don't they write about people like us ? 

[ 122] 



MODERN FICTION 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Ah, but they sometimes do, Mr. Alexander. Those are 
the books that are damned as artificial. 

WEBBER 

Yes, we are such an unimportant froth — we "best peo- 
ple" — that when a writer with real power and a feeling 
for the human thing, comes along — he knows enough to 
let us alone. . . . We are not living, you know, we are 
only looking at life. We are not even symbolic. 

MISS ALINE 

{Practically) And, anyway, you get a much firmer 
effect if you deal with extremes, and in America, of course, 
we have no real aristocracy. 

WEBBER 

And the poor we have always with us. They have the 
importance of permanency. 

MISS ALINE 

And, at any rate, good modern fiction does not deal so 
much with facts of environment as with facts of tempera- 
ment. That is what makes it so much more poignant than 
its predecessors. 

WEBBER 

Time was when people demanded of a writer the telling 
of what a reader would do in a given situation, and that 

[123] 



I N TOWN 

was simple enough. Nowadays we demand the telling of 
what he would feel. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

We have turned our attention from the romantic to the 
emotional. I fancy it is the natural development of inac- 
tive lives. 

ALEXANDER 

But why should emotions always be disagreeable? I" 
don't know anything about 'em — I'm a busy man — I 
haven't time for 'em — but can't emotion make a man 
laugh as well as cry.'' 

MRS. FLETCHER 

If they are dismal, it is the fault of the writer; it is 
his personal view of life only, so don't blame the emotions. 
They are nothing but instincts, and I should hate to be- 
lieve that all our instinct for joy is gone. 

WEBBER 

The modern artist is a melancholy creature; the day 
of the care-free pagan seems to be past. Our civilization 
has been too much for his nervous system. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And you must remember that people who are unhappy 
are the ones who produce. No one who is miserable can 
resist expressing it — while happiness is so absorbing that 
it does not give one time to do anything but live. 

[124] 



MODERN FICTION 

ALEXANDER 

But the worst thing about all this unhealthy stuff you 
women read is that it makes you discontented. . . . 
It's bad for you; it sets you thinking. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That is an unfortunate thing to happen to any woman. 

ALEXANDER 

{Placing his cup on the table, and preparing to fly 
before further discussion) It's all too ugly. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But, Mr. Alexander, it is a real test of optimism to find 
beauty in ugly things. If a writer can do that for us he 
is justified. 

ALEXANDER 

Well, I don't claim to be an optimist. I'm just a plain 
man, and I like to be comfortable — inside and out. If 
life is like that I don't want to hear about it — and — 
what's more — I don't believe it is ! 

WEBBER 

You are right, Alexander. Physical energy for the ef- 
fect on feeling is the obj ect of modern fiction — and 
feeling for the effect on physical energy is the object of 
nature. . . . There is a big difference. 

[125] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Yes, one is vital, and the other is not. 

MISS ALINE 

And yet we call our later writers realists. 

WEBBER 

Realism in art is only expressing life as the particular 
artist sees it. It is his sincerity that gives it value, but 
it isn't necessarily truth. No man can see life as it really 
is; he is too near it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And it is not what the artist sees that we care for — it 
is what he feels. If he can make us feel the genuineness 
of his feeling we are satisfied — for while art can exist and 
not be true to life, it must be true to its creator. We come 
back to personality, after all. 



[ 126] 



XII 

C O N S E R VAT I O N 



MRS. FLETCHER 

{Living a life hemmed in by conventions, she delights in 
considering herself a free agent.) Here is your tea, Mr. 
Paston. 

PASTON 

(He is a short, bland man, with a look of perennial 
middle-age. A member of the National Conservation As- 
sociation) Thank you. 

WEBBER 

(Lightly) It looks to me as though you had given him 
more than his share of cream; according to the principles 
of conservation you should have saved it for another day. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder how popular a move conservation would be if 
it interfered with the private life of people. . . . 
Do you think we should believe in it then.'^ 

WEBBER 

(Interested in all theories, and champion of none.) It 
would take a big man to popularize that! 

[127] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

(A believer in laissez-faire.) I think it would be very 
annoying. 

PASTON 

It is reasonable to believe it might be good for us as a 
race. 

WEBBER 

Physically it would be, beyond a doubt — but the ques- 
tion arises as to whether the physical side of the American 
people is more important than the spiritual one. 

MRS. VANE 

How can you say that, Mr. Webber, when you have so 
many friends in sanitariums and rest cures all the time? 
It is really difficult, sometimes, to have a rubber of bridge 
— so many women go away to get their nerves in shape. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And to get their new clothes. Mother. Don't forget 
that ! 

PASTON 

But nervous breakdowns might be prevented if taken in 
time, Mrs. Vane. Nerves should not be heedlessly de- 
stroyed, any more than any other heritage. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But who wouldn't rather have her fun — and pay for it 
if she must, — than always to be saving, — and possibly in 

[128] 



C QNSERVATIQN 

the end never getting anything? I have always felt that 
the danger of providing for a rainy day was that it might 
continue to shine^ after all. 

MRS. VANE 

I should want to be very sure that it was necessary be- 
fore I gave up anything. I think that when we look back 
we don't regret the things we did do, one-half so much as 
the things we didn't. 

WEBBER 

That is the tragedy of youth, Mrs. Vance — the harm- 
less things that seemed dangerous, and were avoided. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And the tragedy of age is the things that really are 
dangerous — and can't be avoided. 

PASTON 

If we were regulated by an association we should con- 
serve youth, and old age would be vitalized. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That might be rather dreadful, don't you think .^ No 
one could tell where it might lead. . . . Even as 
things are, we see grandmothers wearing garden hats — but 
think how much worse it would be if they were to look 
arch under them ! 

[129] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

(Stiffly) I like to see a woman keep her youth, myself. 

WEBBER 

And looking arch isn't a question of years; it is entirely 
one of spectators. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But, seriously, can any of you imagine anything more 
exasperating than being interfered with by a committee 
that fancied it knew more about you than you knew your- 
self. 

PASTON 

(In the heat of argument recklessly abandoning his tea) 
Such guidance might save a great many mistakes. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I doubt it. No one can tell where another person needs 
guidance, and nothing is more boring than people who in- 
sist on saving you from something you know never can 
happen to you. 

MRS. VANE 

One of the most noticeable things about the advice 
people are always giving you is that it is invariably wrong. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But it has a perfectly definite value in cementing one's 
decisions against it. I have often been quite undecided — 

[130] 



CONSERVATION 

entirely at sea, in fact — when a word from a friend urg- 
ing one horn of my dilemma, made me instantly impale 
myself upon the other. 

WEBBER 

That is very human of you, Mrs. Fletcher. Wouldn't 
your system, Paston, defy the Declaration of Independ- 
ence.^ Does it allow for "life, liberty, and the pursuit of 
happiness".^ 

PASTON 

But life — a longer and more useful one — would be our 
aim — and is it your idea that we have liberty under the 
present conditions .f* 

MRS. FLETCHER 

At least we are free to abuse our health if we like. 
. . . We may go without sleep, for instance. 

MRS. VANE 

Yes — and eat rich foods. I think that one of the most 
discouraging things about life is that all the things we are 
told are good for us to eat are so singularly unappetizing. 

PASTON 

But there are a great many harmless things we may not 
do, because convention forbids them. 

MRS. VANE 

Well, Mr. Paston, I will confess that I like convention. 

[l3l] 



I N TOWN 

It makes everything so smooth — so easy. Without it, life 
would be like a picture puzzle when the pieces don't fit. 

PASTON 

I don't propose to abandon conventions — Heaven for- 
bid ! — but only to introduce another set of them. 

WEBBER 

You have accounted fairly well for life and liberty, Pas- 
ton — more days in this land, and duller ones — and a 
substitution of tyrannies. How about happiness.'' 

PASTON 

We are only promised the pursuit of it, you know. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And what is happiness.'' 

WEBBER 

That is a big question, Mrs. Fletcher. It might be so 
many things, depending on one's mood. I suppose it is 
satisfaction — to put it mildly — or success — worldly or 
otherwise, according to one's ambitions. I fancy that is 
the strong man's feeling about it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Nonsense! The strong man is he who takes failure 

[ 132] 



CONSERVATION 

well. It is a sign of weakness always to demand a per- 
sonal triumph. 

MRS. VANE 

I find that my idea of happiness is changing. I used 
to think that it was getting what I wanted, but now I find 
that I am quite well pleased if my daughter gets what she 
wants. . . . Of course I am not so young as the rest 
of you. 

WEBBER 

One of the interesting things in life is that we each think 
we must necessarily reach the highest form of self de- 
velopment — must follow every impulse towards it — un- 
til suddenly we are confronted with the development of 
another that is more important to us than our own. . . . 
I fancy it is one of the compensations for years and re- 
sponsibility — and while it isn't joy it must be happiness. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

What is your idea of it, Mr. Paston.^ 

PASTON 

I think that nine times out of ten happiness is simply 
health — nothing more complex! The trouble with it is 
— not that people don't get it — but that, when they do, 
they waste it. . . . Experience has shown that — and 
we aim to do away with waste. 

[133] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Ah, Mr. Paston — experience! What value has that.'' 
It only teaches us to understand others! we never apply 
it to ourselves until it is too late. 

WEBBER 

And experience, after all, is only a sort of illustration 
to the text of our lives. 

MRS. VANE 

But I like illustrations — don't you? I think they do so 
much towards helping out a dull article. 

PASTON 

{With the blind optimism of the enthusiast) Mental 
conservation would do much for dulness; people are like 
lands — they need nourishing. 

WEBBER 

Aren't our universities taking care of that.^ 

PASTON 

Yes, to a certain extent — but how about a change of 
crops } 

WEBBER 

That, I imagine, is what our industrial conditions pre- 
vent. 

[134] 



CONSERVATION 

PASTON 

Exactly. There's a vast amount of mental aridity that 
might be done away with. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It all depends on what you want. . . . There is 
this to be said about an arid region — it forms a contrast 
• to a fertile one, and contrasts spur the imagination. 
When all our arid lands — mental and physical — are re- 
claimed, we shall all have a great deal too much to eat — 
and too little to think about. 

MRS. VANE 

I believe that one of the reasons that California seems 
so lovely is that you come into it from the desert. 

WEBBER 

However you sugar-coat it, Paston, you will have to ad- 
mit that moderation is an unpopular thing to go in for. 
It must necessarily be completely boring, for it has lasting 
qualities and no poignancy. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And, after all, we Americans cannot bear being inter- 
fered with — not even for the good of the state. . . . 
It is better to be unhappy in your own way than happy in 

[135] 



1 N 1' () VN N 

anyone's else. {She irniatively lifts her tea pot) I 
Imve some tea loll, Mr. Paslon. 11 should be a matter of 
eonseienee wilh you to take another eup, for you should 
not allow it to be wasted. 



[ 130] 



XIII 

P L A Y W Ji J T J X (; 



MR«. FLETCHER 

(She iff inter ented in Life «* a pageant, and delifihtn in 
mnornment rather than in action.) VVljal Imvc you \)'-j;u do- 
ing U>-(\jiy, Moilntr? 

MM, VAME 

(A woman who find/) a HucceHHion of eventn more amua- 
ing then arreiiied, attention.) 1 liuvf-, jiwt corrjf. fror/j a 
rnecting of tjjc Afternoon CJuh w}if,rf, Ujf-.y r':;i'j arj afna- 
Ir-.ur \>\''iy. n. H^'jtmH an if f:v':ryofj<; vvf;rf; writing 

pJ/iyH tlicrtc (Jay;-.. iJon't you tljifik ho? 

WKiHiLli 

W<JJ, J rijjoiijdij't, go ho far as lo hay Uiat. but a 
grf;at rrjarjy j>';o|>l«; an-. uMJng t,}j«-, fJrarfiat.Jc form. 

MR«. VANE 

Wliciij 1 w/iH young no on« '-,vf-,r thought of 8uch a thing 
— and now it's rcaJly rnorr-, common tfian playing tlic 
piano! ... if Hupposc that in hccaiisc it muBt be 
easier. /t taken -such a lorjg tirnf. to icarn to phay — 
c«pcci/iiiy without notes, and jjractihing is so very tirc«ome. 

[Mil] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(With mock seriousness) You encourage me. Mother, 
I believe I'll try my hand at the drama. 

WEBBER 

(Eagerly) I wish you would. I'm sure you have ample 
material. 

ALEXANDER 

But whatever would you write a play about .^ 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder. . . .If you will sharpen my pencils 
for me, Mr. Webber — and if you, Mr. Alexander, will 
loan me your stenographer and her typewriter — I be- 
lieve I will write a play on the wrongs of the American 
woman ! 

ALEXANDER 

But she never does wrong. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Does wrong } I should think not ! — But she suffers 
them, as every one knows who goes to the theatre. 

MRS. VANE 

I am so very tired of seeing impleasant things at the 
theatre. What I like is a sweet, pretty little play that sends 
me home feeling very comfortable. 

[ 138] 



PLAYWRITING 

ALEXANDER 

Right, Mrs. Vane ! — With something snappy in 
dances ! . . . I don't know what is the matter with 
our native playwrights; they spend all their time show- 
ing up American life as it isn't — but would be if it were 
in Norway — or Russia — or France. 

WEBBER 

(Oblivious) There are burning subjects enough right 
here in this town. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But I don't want a burning subject; I want to find 
something that just pleasantly glows. . . . Now I 
suppose you^ Mr. Webber, would like me to write a play 
about low wages and high beef prices — with the hero 
in a sweater, and the heroine in black sateen — and a two 
weeks' run if we were lucky. 

ALEXANDER 

(Agitatedly) There's nothing in plays like that. Every 
chap I know's bored to death at 'em, and never comes back 
after the first intermission. . * . You never hear 'em 
mentioned at my club ! 

MRS. VANE 

(Soothingly) I am sure, Mr. Alexander, that my 
daughter would not dream of writing a play in which the 

[ 139] 



I N TOWN 

leading lady could not wear French gowns. What would 
be the use of it? . . . I always think it is a real 
triumph to the playwright if the dresses the women in 
his company wear are just a little ahead of the models at 
the dressmaker's, it makes it all so very interesting. 

WEBBER 

I'll admit that in the modern play more attention is 
paid to clothes than to dialogue; it is a triumph of matter 
over mind. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

A mere man can't appreciate the emotional value of the 
latest shade of cerise worn on the Rue de la Paix, Mother 
— that is asking too much. 

WEBBER 

(Doggedly) And may I ask what you intend doing 
with your beautifully coiffed and gowned heroine.^ 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Lightly) Oh, the usual thing! . . , Her troubles 
will affect her peace of mind, — for I, too, have read my 
Ibsen — but she will triumphantly preserve the bloom 
worthy of the leading lady in a French farce. 

ALEXANDER 

(Soulfully selecting his cake) It listens good to me! 
Is she to be married or single? 

[140] 




Webber 



P L A Y W R I T I N C; 

MRS. FLETCHER 

What a question! — Do you ever hear, nowadays, of 
a strictly up-to-date heroine who is not married? 

WEBBER 

It's true — they must all have entered the holy state of 
matrimony. 

MRS. VANE 

But some of them have left it. 

ALEXANDER 

Yes — by Jove ! — left it for the unholy state of South 
Dakota ! 

MRS. VANE 

I can't think why we never see, any more, the young and 
fresh heroine. I really miss her. 

WEBBER 

It is true, what you say. The popular age for heroines 
has jumped from seventeen to twenty-seven. . . 
Is it, I wonder, that we are more sophisticated — or that 
lovely ladies are better preserved? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Both, I fancy. , . . It's the penalty we pay for 
growing civilized. ... I should think the debutantes 
would be bored, for now no one; writes even poetry to fresh 



I N TOWN 

simplicity. Daisies do not spring where the modern heroine 
walks. 

ALEXANDER 

We are certainly going in for peaches without bloom, in 
our generation. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Unfortunately one cannot have a fresh complexion with- 
out also having a fresh mind — and nothing is more boring 
than that. 

ALEXANDER 

Whom will your heroine be married to, Mrs. Fletcher.^ 
What sort of a chap.^* 

MRS. VANE 

Really a great deal depends on that — I often think so. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Oh, he'll h% the typical American man. 

ALEXANDER 

What is the typical American man.f* 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Why, he'll be hard-working, with no time even to notice 
how many thousand things his wife knows a little about. 
. . . He'll never have read "The Golden Bowl" — 
and he won't care anything about modern English fiction 
— and he'll be too tired to get anything out of music. 

[144] 



PLAYWRITING 

He'll take it for granted that his wife is immensely his 
superior — she'll have given so much time to it — but he 
won't bother about it; on the whole he prefers it that way. 

MRS. VANE 

{Approvingly) That's as it should be. 

WEBBER 

{Seriously) And then what? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Speaking slowly, arid realizing her plot as she goes on) 
She'll fill up her life with the easy, diverting things until 
she will be getting on a bit, and time begins to look val- 
uable to her. Then she'll realize that there are some things 
she hasn't — and never will have, unless she goes after 
them. 

WEBBER 

What sort of things ? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Oh, understanding, you know — and sympathy. 

ALEXANDER 

Oh, yes — all that rot ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And then something will have to happen to her, . . . 
That is the worst thing about writing a play ; in life things 

[ 145] 



I N TOWN 

don't necessarily happen — but in plays they must . . . 
I wonder what? 

ALEXANDER 

(Doubtfully and with the air of one who dares mucky 
She might come across an affinity. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But affinities have been used so often — and, besides 
that, don't you think they are a little pallid.'' . . . 
She might not, of course — that would be a perfectly good 
climax. 

MRS. VANE 

(Looking at her daughter and sighing) It has been my 
experience that when a woman gets to the place in her life 
where she begins to feel the need of an affinity her chil- 
dren begin to feel the need of her, and children are very 
occupying. 

WEBBER 

That is a good idea, Mrs. Vane. ... Or she might 
make a life's work of educating her husband. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Almost anything will do. . . . The point is that 
she must read her own soul in the third act. 

MRS. VANE 

It must be at a ball — or something of that kind — so 
that she will have an opportunity to look very well. 

[146] 



PLAYWRITING 

WEBBER 

The setting is important — why not try having the first 
act in a rolling mill? As far as I know that has never 
been done. 

ALEXANDER 

And the second on the top of a twenty-story building 
at an aviation station — or on the beach of the Philip- 
pines, with some native stunts worked in — something doing 
every minute. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And the last act in her husband's office, to symbolize 
their reunion. 

WEBBER 

Or her drawing-room, if you decide against it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And there we have everything that is necessary for a 
successful play ! 

WEBBER 

Yes — the exploiting of the time-honored, grief-stricken 
wife — in perfectly new surroundings. . . . You'll 
have the great-hearted American audience with you to a 
woman ! 

ALEXANDER 

(With a trace of sulkiness) I don't see what the Amer- 
ican woman has to complain of; there's hardly one you 
know, who hasn't her motor — and her pearls — and all 

[ 147 ] 



I N T O W N 

that sort of thing. . . . Our men have their troubles 
too ! Why don't they write plays about 'em ? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Oh, they haven't time; they are too busy earning money 
to support their wives and families. 



[ 148] 



X I V 

S IMl I N (; V K V E R 



wKnnEii 

I \inv<: w;ilkc(l up ;ilf>n^ Ui<; l;ikr;, and Spring is in t.Iio 
air. 

ALEXANDER 

{UnlrouhUd hy mental conflicts) 'V\u: parks arc full 
of p(to[>](t wandering about in pairs; a man lias to run iiis 
r;ar slowly, tln^rf; an; so many. 

MUH. FLETCHER 

And v.vi.ry lass lias a new straw hat! 

MHS. VANE 

Some, of tiif:m arc really extraordinary this year. 

WEnHER 

It must 1)0 a frightful struggle for a young woman to 
divide her attention hetwerin a young man anri an Easier 
honne't. 

xMRH. I'LETCIIER 

On the contrary, it's no struggle at all ; the young man 
hasn't a chance ! 



I N T O W N 

ALEXANDER 

It's only a husband that's always connected with a new 
hat. 

WEBBER 

Spring and the fashions seem to have an intimate bond, 
for some obscure reason not comprehensible to the mere 
male. I find that at this time of the year I don't thrill, 
particularly, over new clothes, and yet I passed no less 
than three sets of young women, walking arm in arm, their 
heads close together, and their hands full of samples. 
They were completely absorbed, and their expressions were 
nothing less than poetic, 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It is impossible to explain. Like everything that is in- 
stinctive — you feel it, but you can't tell about it. In the 
Autumn clothes bore me to extinction, but in the Spring 
I dream about them at night ! . . . After all, the value 
of an emotion is not to be fixed by the thing that arouses 
it, but by the vivifying quality it gives to our every-day 
life. 

MRS. VANE 

(Illustrating the maxim that to the unohserving all things 
are unobserved) And Summer things are so light and 
pretty; they are frightfully tempting. I always spend the 
Summer regretting my extravagances of the Spring. 

[150] 



SPRING FEVER 

WEBBER 

They are to wear in the open; I fancy that is the sub- 
conscious explanation. 

ALEXANDER 

They are ordered at an opening — that is more to the 
point ! 

MRS. VANE 

{Eagerly) Isn't it strange the effect an opening has 
on one.'' I always go determined not to get anything — 
of course you like to see all your friends, and to find out 
what the fashions are to be — but when I leave I invari- 
ably have bought a great many things I don't in the least 
need. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Mr. Webber talks of the "open"; I suppose one doesn't 
need French frocks for that — but for us — for our coun- 
try clubs and tennis tournaments — for automobiles and 
week - ends — we must have the artificialities ; they are so 
entirely in keeping. 

WEBBER 

{Irrelevantly) As I came along the ducks were flying 
north over the lake, close down, — just a black scratch — 
but swift and determined and free, and every now and then 
a little breath of air came off the water — clear and keen 
and cold. 

[151] 



I N TOWN 

ALEXANDER 

It's the kind of a day that makes you think of the club 
piazza, and cool things in glasses. 

MRS. VANE 

It is the kind of a day that makes you think you want 
to open your country house, and yet all the time you know 
very well you would be lonely there, and that there is no 
sense in going to the country ahead of the asparagus. 

WEBBER 

It is the kind of a day that makes you feel a thousand 
impulses. It is like modern music; it fills you with little 
thrilling sensations that come to nothing. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

You shouldn't ask fulfilment of emotions; they are not 
like a railroad train, with a definite point of departure 
and arrival, but like a little vagrant breeze that is here and 
gone — and you are left the fresher for it. 

WEBBER 

Of course it is ridiculous to analyze emotions. They 
Can stand life, but not dissection. 

ALEXANDER 

I went to my florist's this morning to leave my Easter 
order, and the whole place was full of flowers. When I 

[152] 



SPRING FEVER 

opened the door the air was sweet with them. . . . 
I sent a great many more than I had intended — I even 
bought some for myself. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

In the parks, under the shrubs, the crocuses and tlie 
snowdrops are out, and I suppose in the real woods, if you 
brush away the dead leaves, you can find the little hard 
pink arbutus buds, already fragrant, and almost ready to 
open. 

MRS. VANE 

At Chapuis' yesterday the flowers on the hats were really 
marvelous. I never saw anything so lovely — the French 
ones, that is. I think the French are so clever; every season 
they outdo themselves. 

ALEXANDER 

(Selecting a frosted cake) The worst thing about the 
Spring is that it is always tempting a man to do something 
he can't pull off. 

WEBBER 

(In amazement) Et tu, Brute? 

ALEXANDER 

(Loftily, albeit heavily, disregarding Webber's pleas- 
antry) These days I am always wanting to try a real coun- 
try road in the motor, when I know all the time it is hub 
deep in mud, and that no one has moved out to the country 
yet to put a man up if he did get through. 

[153] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Voicing, in spite of her conventional life, an uncon- 
forming, feral impulse) Ah, but there is the charm of the 
unknown road, with the brown woods closing it in, and the 
keen blue sky overhead. You feel that only to follow it 
forever is happiness. . . . 

WEBBER 

It is the uncertainty of what may be around the very 
next bend — the complete ignorance of what is at the end 
— that wins us. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Is that the witchery, I wonder.'' If so, Mr. Alexander is 
wise — it is better not to finish it. Uncertainty is so rare, 
in these cushioned days, that it has become a delight. Pic- 
ture to yourself the defeat of going gladly on to the end 
of the road, and there finding only the same deadening 
things ! 

MRS. VANE 

(Sententiously) There is nothing new under the sun, 
remember. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder. The Spring makes me hate the old ways. I 
want to do different things and meet different people. It 
is probably only a natural reaction following a frivolous 
Winter, when one has talked — and talked — and talked. 

[154] 



SPRING FEVER 

ALEXANDER 

One of the reasons I like to go away is to play with 
another crowd. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And that is a very good reason. 

WEBBER 

To come across someone who is unlike anyone you have 
ever known before is one of the keenest refreshments a 
critical person may hope for. 

MRS. VANE 

I have found that so many of the people who are dif- 
ferent from those you already know are really very queer 
— and I don't like queer people. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It is the better way, I fancy, to put Spring fever in its 
place, but there is a temptation to yield to it, and let it 
lead us where it will. 

WEBBER 

Temptations do not hurt us; they only make us sympa- 
thetic — j ust as, when we resist them, they make us strong. 
It is worth something to understand. 

ALEXANDER 

I know how the small boy feels who plays hookey. I 

[155] 



I N TOWN 

hate the thought of my office^ these days — and the market 
isn't so bad_, either. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Nothing is as alluring, in the first promise of Summer, 
as complete irresponsibility. . . . The cloud shadows 
are flying over the prairie, and all the little rivers are run- 
ning swiftly to the sea — and yet — here we civilized weak- 
lings sit behind walls. . . . The curious thing about it 
is that we build the walls ourselves, and no one could tell 
what would be happening to us if they were suddenly cast 
down — and we used only to sheltered places. 

MRS. VANE 

I think we are very well off as we are. There's a great 
deal of nonsense talked about nature. I say, give me com- 
forts. 

ALEXANDER 

Theory is one thing and practice is another. 

WEBBER 

Nothing is easier than to persuade yourself that the 
rules and precepts of your life have been a mistake. It 
is only when we are confronted with the necessity of 
actually breaking them that we realize they are stronger 
than a mere mental attitude. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I suppose you are right. (She sighs — one of the easy 
sighs that come in the Springtime) 

[l56] 



X V 

THE HOUSE PARTY 



(Mrs. Fletcher discovered. She is a woman who pos- 
sesses a strong social sense — which is nothing 
• 7nore than duty gone right. Enter Mrs. Vane, who 

is sufficiently indolent to believe that, when it comes 
to entertaining guests, the Lord will provide — and 
sufficiently self-centered not to perceive that He 
sometimes neglects to.) 

MRS. VANE 

What have you been doing all the afternoon ? I have had 
such a nice nap. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Looking at her with envy) I have been umpiring a 
tennis match. 

MRS. VANE 

I thought you didn't like tennis. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Like it? I hate it! Miss Gregory brought golf clubs 
and a racquet with her, and I suppose they weren't en- 
tirely for scenic effect. My heart sank when I saw her 
getting off the train with them; I foresaw my afternoon. 

tl57] 



I N TOWN 

. . . I was never so tired in all my life as I am this 
moment! And she hasn't so much as seen the golf links 
yet! 

MRS. VANE 

(Comfortably) You can send her over with Mr. Alex- 
ander, in the morning. He is such a sensible young man; 
he likes to sit on a club piazza. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Bitterly) Yes — and Miss Gregory wants someone to 
walk over the entire eighteen holes with her, telling her 
every stroke that she is a remarkable player! Besides 
that, Mr. Alexander wants to motor. Didn't you hear him 
talking, last night at dinner, about the condition of the 
roads .f* That is a sure sign. And Mrs. Wilton brought 
four hats with her, and parasols to match — so I take it 
for granted that she expects a whirl — that means the 
dance at the club to-night. 

MRS. VANE 

And those club dances are so stupid! . . . Mr. 
Webber was looking for you; he had something he wanted 
to read aloud. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

There's the literary temperament for you! Imagine my 
having time to listen to reading between the train on Friday 

[158] 



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tv .1- 



I have been umpiring at a tennis match 



THE HOUSE PARTY 

afternoon and the train on Monday morning ! (Enter Mr. 
Alexander) 

mrs. fletcher 

(Assuming a sprightly cheerfulness) What have you 
been doing with yourself? 

ALEXANDER 

1} — Oh, I have been walking over Mr. Acre's farm. 

. . Wilton got hold of me; I didn't see him first! 
(He sinks into a chair with a long, weary sigh) It was 
ninety in the shade when we left the porch — and history 
doesn't state what it was in the pasture ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Automatically) Poor Mr. Alexander! 

MRS. VANE 

It is very tiresome to walk about and look at stock. 

ALEXANDER 

It's me for the kind of stock that's sold on the Exchange 
— not scattered over a hundred acres of grilling farm 
land! ... I saw 'em watering it, too; we can beat 
that for excitement on La Salle Street, any day. . . . 
I have looked over forty varieties of chickens — and 
Heaven knows how many pigs and cows ! And as for 

[161] 



I N TOWN 

squabs — I don't wonder that Noah let the dove go out 
of the Ark. It's a chance any man would have taken, if 
he had to live with 'em! . . . I'll wager he was sorry 
to see it coming home to roost! {Enter Miss Gregory, an 
athletic weeh-end guest, Mrs. Wilton, a fashionable one, 
and Mr. Webber) 

MISS GREGORY 

That court was first rate — a little slow, but with a 
turf court, that is the danger. . . . Mrs. Fletcher, 
you were born to be an umpire. You do it beautifully. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Conventionally) Oh, I love to — that is why! 

MISS GREGORY 

Not but what I still think that ball in the second set — 
third game — when the score was thirty-forty, you know 
— was really out. . . , 

MRS. WILTON 

I like to watch tennis; it always brings out so many 
people one knows. (To Mrs. Vane) You should have 
come; there was a girl there with the queerest dress on! 
If I hadn't seen her I never could have believed it. 

WEBBER 

I liked it. I thought it was graceful. 

[ 162] 



THE HOUSE PARTY 

MRS. VANE 

{Scornfully) Graceful! 

MRS. WILTON 

Isn't that like a man ? 

MISS GREGORY 

They tell me that the links here are awfully stiff. . . . 
I can hardly wait to try that third hole. . . . The 
bogey is six — but I am in pretty good form this year. 
... I can play in the morning, can't I, Mrs. Fletcher? 
You won't have to think about me at all — just send me 
over to the club, and I will take care of myself. (She 
smiles confidently around the circle) Someone will want 
to go around with me, I know. 

MRS. WILTON 

You are so energetic ! Now I should think you would 
rather stay at home and play bridge, this hot weather. 
. The rest of us may do that — may we not, Mrs. 
Fletcher? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Mentally counting her party to see if there is a pos- 
sibility of four hands) Oh, yes, indeed ! 

ALEXANDER 

That was a great game we had last night. . . . You 
played that doubled no-trump in the second rubber, Mrs. 

[163] 



I N TOWN 

Wilton, like a real member of a man's club! When you 
led that ten of diamonds I thought it was all up with us — 
but it cleared the suit ! 

{Enter Wilton; he is a successful man, and he has a 
merciless interest in farming as practised hy hankers.^ 

WILTON 

Well, I have had an interesting day ! {To his wife) Sallie, 
I've learned what Acre feeds his pigs ! Wouldn't have 
missed it for a great deal ! And he alternates alfalfa and 
oats — just the two crops — and he claims he gets a hun- 
dred and fifty to a hundred and sixty to the head — but 
farming is like fishing — a man has a right to exaggerate 
a little — it's always safer to allow for it. . . . He says 
that to - morrow he will take me over to Ender's stock farm. 
You don't care if I go, Mrs. Fletcher? I'll take care of 
myself; you won't need to think of me. 

ALEXANDER 

Well, I'd like to run over to Blue Lake to-morrow. I 
saw a man who went there last week, and he says the roads 
are in good shape — a little rutty — and dusty, of course 
— but nothing bad. . . . There is a hill over there that 
he swears he took on first, and if he did I want to see if I 
can. . . . If I can't, I know he didn't. . . . There 
is a very good hotel there — why can*t I take you all over 
for lunch .^ 

[164] 



THE HOUSE PARTY 

WEBBER 

{With hollow regret) Sorry, Alexander — but I have 
some work to do. . . . (To Mrs. Fletcher) I knew 
you would understand — my article must be ready by Mon- 
day — and that you would not object to my taking some 
time for myself to-morrow. You won't have to bother 
about me. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

No, indeed; don't consider me at all! Of course your 
article must be written, Mr. Webber — and naturally you 
want to play golf, Miss Gregory — I'll see to it — and 
I don't need you at all, Mr. Wilton; you musn't think of 
me for a moment; I hope you will enjoy your stock farm. 
. . . And we'll find someone to go on your motor trip, 
Mr. Alexander — and the rest of us will play bridge, Mrs. 
Wilton. And now, if you will excuse me for a few moments, 
I think I will just go in and telephone to town for a few 
extra men. . . . They never come in amiss. . . . 



[165] 



XVI 

BORES 



MRS. FLETCHER 



{She is one of those unfortunate persons who, whatever 
may be their inward rebellion, present an appearance of 
docile enjoyment of any conversation in which they may be 
taking part.) It is amazing, isn't it, how many of the 
people one meets are boring ? 



MRS. VANE 



{With the complacency of a woman who has a liJcing for 
talk to be compared to the feeling one has for running 
water; a continuous flow pleases her) My dear, I find 
very few people bore me. I think that is a habit of mind 
you should not allow yourself to get into. It is so easy to 
think that if a person doesn't talk about just the things 
that you make a fad of, he is a bore ; but that is your fault, 
not his. If you had no interests in particular, you would 
find that you didn't much care what he talked about — just 
so that he kept on talking. Personally, I should rather dis- 
cuss the weather than nothing. I think the only real bore is 
the person who never talks at all. 

[166] 



BORES 

WEBBER 

(With heartfelt emphasis) But think how much less 
boring such a habit would make the average bore ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder what is the most tiresome thing we suffer 
under ? 

ALEXANDER 

(Solemnly considering and speaking with grave delib- 
eration) I think the worst bore is the woman who wants 
to tell you all about her children — their weights^ and what 
they eat, and the bright things they say. Bright! Good 
Lord! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Expressing the tenderness of the childless woman) 
But all children are interesting; it is only parents who 
weary you. 

MRS. VANE 

(With the finality of a woman who is a mother, and 
who also takes all emotions for granted) My dear, that 
is one of the greatest mistakes in the world; children are 
not interesting ; they are much too self - centered ; other 
people's are a great nuisance. 

WEBBER 

Children are so ornamental that it is asking too much 
to demand more of them. 

[167] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

If anyone can be successfully beautiful it should be 
considered enough. Beauty, at least, never satiates. . . . 
I must confess that I am not particularly enthralled by 
the man who chooses baseball or the fight at Reno as a 
topic of conversation. The sporting bore is so vigorous 
that he is difficult to discourage ; the last time I went out to 
dinner I sat beside one, and it took me until the salad to 
convey to him the intimation that I didn't in the least care 
whether Johnson or Jeffries had won. 

ALEXANDER 

{Eyeing her askance) There's nothing the matter with 
baseball or the fight; they are just two of those things it 
takes a man's brain to grasp. You should place a bet or 
two, and see how you feel about them, then ! 

WEBBER 

I believe the greatest bore of them all is the man who 
insists on telling you how he made his money, 

ALEXANDER 

(Shortly) That's absurd. There's nothing more inter- 
esting. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I agree with Mr. Alexander; I think the making of 
money is always of interest. It is the conserving of it, 
when it is once made, that is difficult to be absorbed in. 

[168] 



B O R K S 

WEBBER 

Conservation is always uninteresting; it is either cre- 
ating or destroying that we find exciting. 

ALEXANDER 

The kind of person who bores me is the man who won't 
listen to me when I want to talk to him about myself, and 
who insists that I must listen to him while he talks to me 
about himself. No man wants to hear about another man 
unless he has an inning coming to him. It isn't a fair 
game. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I believe we can endure dull people if they are only 
sincere. It is a pose of any sort that is the most stupid 
thing in the world. 

MRS. VANE 

Yes, indeed; there is the woman who pretends not to 
care about clothes, for instance. So unnaturally unat- 
tractive of her. . . . I do like a woman to be womanly. 
And it always seems to me it must be sour grapes, anyway, 
especially when I look at the kind of dresses that sort of 
a woman always wears. 

WEBBER 

And there is the literary pose. I think persons who go 
in for that are assuming a weak position; if they are rep- 
resenting intellect they should have, as a first requisite, 
brains enough to conceal the fact. 

[ 169] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That is a very easily recognized pose, at any rate; the 
first thing one notices is a use of conspicuously unusual 
words to express quite ordinary thoughts, and shortly after 
that one discovers a love for the minor poets. I don't know 
what the literary poseuse would do were it not for the 
minor poets. They supply her with just the proper mix- 
ture of diluted decadence. 

WEBBER 

And they are so very easily imitated! Any lady wish- 
ing to express her soul, may have her pick of any number 
of perfectly good forms, all well fitted to the soul motif. 

ALEXANDER 

All these high-brow people are tiresome. When they 
talk so much about their extraordinary thoughts I can never 
believe they are the real thing; I always suspect 'em and 
avoid 'em when I can. I would rather go up against a nice 
commonplace woman who is willing to talk about the every- 
day things that happen to a man — even if they aren't 
particularly exciting — than I would to play up to an 
anaemic soul who goes in for having her Depths stirred by 
Art. I like to take things as I find 'em. I don't want to 
make a religion of music — and bar out the light operas, 
and amusing things like that — or make an intellectual feat 
of looking at a portrait. I want to take things naturally. 
May I have another cup of tea, please? 

[170] 



BORES 

WEBBER 

(Speaking from the heart) I have come to the depress- 
ing conclusion that each season brings its especial crop of 
bores. There is the golf or the tennis enthusiast who in- 
fests the trains in Midsummer. You all know him; he sur- 
prises you in the window end of a car seat, blocks your 
retreat, and insists on telling you all about how he foozled 
the bunker in the seventeenth, or how he barely managed 
to return his opponent's lob in a deuce set. It's excessively 
wearisome. 

ALEXANDER 

And the Spring of the year always brings out a lot of 
perfectly bad bores who tell you all about their health — 
how they don't sleep nights, and how they cure colds, and 
all that. By Jove, I don't see how the doctors stand it, get- 
ting it all the while. It's my idea of nothing to listen to 

— that sort of thing. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

In the Spring, too, we first begin to hear about gardens 

— gardens and birds ! I never did find a seed catalogue 
interesting — either to read or to hear quoted — and as for 
birds — well — I prefer keeping my opera glasses for their 
predestined use, rather than getting them out to pry into 
the private life of a robin ! 

MRS. VANE 

The Winter bore is the one I most dislike — the woman 

[171] 



I N TOWN 

who talks — always at parties — against going out. Now, 
I am a very domestic woman, but it's surprising how un- 
attractive family life can be made to appear to me. 

ALEXANDER 

And in the Fall there is the mother of the debutante ; she 
is the worst of *em all ! {He sighs with the despair of the 
eligible bachelor) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Of course, should we really confess, what we all like is 
to talk about ourselves all the time. And when we find 
another person who is sufficiently akin to us to share our 
interest in our sensations, we acclaim him a delightful man. 
It's very simple. 

WEBBER 

Yes. It's a case of bore and let bore, apparently. 

MRS. VANE 

But you hear so much more about it than you used to! 
I don't see what we are coming to. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I don't know about that. There's a quotation, that 
seems to me to be appropriate, that comes to us from an- 
other generation: 

"Society is now one polished horde, 

Formed of two mighty hosts — the bores and bored ! " 

[172] 



XVII 

THE HORSE SHOW 



MRS. FLETCHER 

{Sinking into a chair at one of the many tables scat- 
tered about; she has been, for some time, a suffering guest) 
Even the thought of tea is refreshing ! 

ALEXANDER 

{A believer in society's pastimes, and a man who would 
never have the impulse to look a gift horse show in the 
mouth) The sun was hot out there in the boxes. (He 
mops his brow and makes violent signs to a waiter) 

MRS. PARENT 

(A hostess, and one of those unfortunate women in whom 
the maternal instinct has run riot. She speaks with an in- 
jured air) Did you know that Mr. Edgerton's chestnut 
took a blue ribbon in the gentleman's roadster class.'' Do 
you think it is fair for the same horse to walk off with rib- 
bons both as a gentleman's roadster and as a lady's saddle 
horse ? 

ALEXANDER 

(Always a believer in a definite answer) As long as he 
doesn't have to be both at the same time he's all right. 

[173] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(III the sympathetic murmur that becomes a guest) It 
does seem a bit like asking him to be a bookcase by day and 
a folding bed by night ! 

MRS. PARENT 

I should say it did! ... I think the judges should 
take into consideration whether a horse is used exclusively 
for one thing or not. . . . Now^ there is our Brown 
Betty that my Daisy rode. Of course she isn't as good- 
looking as Mr. Edgerton's chestnut, but the children all 
love her dearly. She has such a sweet temper, and I think 
that is so important in a horse. 

ALEXANDER 

(Sotto voce) And in a woman. 

MRS. PARENT 

(Oblivious) And Daisy had a new habit, too. 

MRS. VANE 

(Comfortingly) I noticed that at once, Mrs. Parent; 
very good-looking — very. 

MRS. PARENT 

Well, I think that should have helped. It isn't only the 
horse one looks at when a lady is riding. . . . My Daisy 

[174] 



T H E H () R S K S 1 1 O W 

has such a good scat. Don't you think ^he has a good 
seat, Mr. Alexander? 

ALEXANDER 

{Absorbed in getting his tea served to his liking, and 
giving only the remnants of his attention to conversation) 
I didn't see where she was sitting, Mrs. Parent. 

m MRS. PARENT 

(Looking at him sharply, and laughing the unwilling 
laugh of the woman who is a hostess, and therefore not free 
to display irritation) I meant her seat on a horse, Mr. 
Alexander. 

MRS. VANE 

{With sudden piercing interest) Do look at that gown! 
Did you ever see anything so perfectly lovely as that skirt.? 
See, she can hardly walk in it — it is so tight. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Languidly observing it) And that, of course, makes 
it very desirable. . . . It's that Jeanne Halle model 
Mme. Marie had in the Spring. 

MRS. VANE 

No, my dear — you are mistaken. It's a Paquin. 

MRS. PARENT 

Those sleeves look like Drecol to me. 

[175] 



I N TOWN 

ALEXANDER 

Ripping looking hat. 

MRS. PARENT 

I believe that my Daisy would look well in a hat like 
that. That woman is a fright in it. She is too old for it. 
. . . Now, my Daisy is so fresh looking. 

ALEXANDER 

(Glancing towards the circle) Hello — here comes the 
four-in-hand class! 

MRS. PARENT 

Why, so it is. . . . We can see them well enough 
from here. I shan't stir until my children come on. Mercy ! 
There is that chestnut again! I don't see how they ever 
got him out of a runabout and into a brake so quickly. 
How amazingly well that old bay horse of the 
Wilton's — that they meet the train with every night, in a 
station wagon — looks as a leader! Their stable must be 
as empty as a deserted village this afternoon, now they 
have mustered out four horses — and there can't be a man 
left in the garden, I'm sure. 

ALEXANDER 

The little chap on the near side looks as if he might be 
more at home on the lawn than on the box. What? (He 
begins to take a sporting interest) Easy on the turn, old 
chap — or you'll shake off the house - man ! 

[176] 




Even the thought of tea is refreshing" 



THE HORSE SHOW 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Plaintively) How absurd a coach looks these days, and 
what a pity it is that the romance is gone from it ! That 
old boat down in the Jackson Park lagoon — the reproduc- 
tion of the one Columbus discovered America in — has as 
much to do with present conditions as a four-in-hand has. 
They are both interesting relics, and that is all. 
• And yet — do you remember how exciting it used to be to 
sit on the box seat, with four beautiful creatures down in 
front of you — and what a thrill the sound of the horn 
used to give you when it rose over a winding country road ? 

ALEXANDER 

Forty - horse - power motors have taken the importance 
away from a four - horse - power coach, and a siren on the 
exhaust makes a horn sound like the whistle on a peanut 
wagon. 

MRS. VANE 

Anything that is out of fashion is insignificant. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Times have changed, and — in spite of Mr. Kipling and 
his school that finds romance in bolts and buzz saws — I 
believe that adventure belongs to the past. Nowadays only 
the criminal classes have it; they are the only ones who 
ever run any risks. The rest of us are so wrapped in safe- 
guards and comforts that there is no opportunity left us 

[179] 



I N TOWN 

to imperil anything except our peace of mind; that,, it fol- 
lows quite naturally, is a hazard we moderns delight in. 
. . . Possibly if we had lived three or four generations 
ago we should not have consciously enjoyed our times. 
. . . I dare say that Londoners took posting quite as 
calmly as we Chicagoans take the Twentieth Century Lim- 
ited. . . . The good old days of eloping to Gretna Green 
behind your straining horses are gone — and something 
vigorous and valorous has gone with them. 

MRS. VANE 

{Comfortably, as one counting her blessings) Well, 
romance is gone, too. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I don't know about that; in the future — the future! 
That is always romantic ! 

MRS. VANE 

My dear, you only think so because it's uncertain. 

ALEXANDER 

If uncertainty does it, the marriage of the future will 
be much more exciting than that of the past. ... I 
suppose the time is coming when the contracting parties 
will start off for St. Joe in an aeroplane. 

MRS. VANE 

(Peering through the crowd about her) What an ex- 
traordinary coat Mrs. Wood is wearing! . . . She 

[18Q] 



THE HORSE SHOW 

really should diet. . . . There is Mrs. Morely; how 
pretty she is in her mourning! It always seems a real 
pity to me;, that if a husband loves his wife, he can never 
have the pleasure of seeing her in a widow's veil; it is 
always so very becoming. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Considering that mourning was first contrived as a pro- 
tection, with the hope of making one inconspicuous, I must 
say that it serves, these days, as ah excellent example of 
the perversion of an idea. 

MRS. VANE 

But my dear, who wants to be protected? Surely a 
widow doesn't — not at a horse show. 

ALEXANDER 

(Looking hopelessly about him, and speaking from the 
heart) Children must be tremendously fond of horses! 

. . I have never seen so many in my life as I have 
here this afternoon. . . . The place is infested with 
'em; it's like an orphan asylum! . . . It's a shame for 
Roosevelt to miss it; it would make him believe that the 
country isn't going to the dogs; I believe it might even 
make him take the stump for race suicide! 

MRS. PARENT 

(With a sudden ecstasy of excitement) Do see what is 
coming now! (She leaps to her feet) Mrs. Fletcher, you 

[181] 



I N TOWN 

mustn't miss this ! Never mind your tea. . . . See^ 
Mrs. Vane^ it's the pony class, and my twins are riding in 
it. . . . That is Eddie on the black pony and little 
Elly on the spotted one. Isn't she sweet, Mr. Alexander? 
Just see her curls bob ! . . . Mercy ! That pony of the 
Anders' is too big for the class ! Why, he's a regular 
Percheron ! . . . They might as well enter Mr. Edger- 
ton's chestnut, and be done with it! . . . I don't think 
it is fair to have a great boy like that competing with mere 
babies like Eddie and Elly. I shouldn't think he would 
want to — with such a good pony, too. . . . Well, we 
must go back to the box, or we shall miss some of this. 
. . Do hurry. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Reluctantly placing her cup on the table, and preparing 
to go out into the sun again. To Mr. Alexander) What 
a strenuous thing the maternal instinct seems to be, and 
how much I should like to finish my tea! (They leave the 
shelter of the pavilion, and join the throng of well dressed, 
pleasure-harassed people flocking up and down before the 
line of boxes^ 



[182] 



XVIII 

MEMORIAL DAY 



ALEXANDER 

{The sort of person who eats, drinks, and does his ham- 
pered best to be merry, — not because he thinks of dying 
to-morrow, but because he lives to-day.) I suppose you 
will be leaving town soon^ Mrs. Fletcher? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Who is sufficiently weary of her environment to fancy 
that anything different from it should be an improve- 
ment.) I think so, — and yet the same old summer life 
does not appeal to me particularly. 

MRS. VANE 

{A comfort-loving woman, who is quite contentedly ab- 
sorbed in externals.) I went to the country for Memorial 
Day. We motored out on Saturday, eight of us in two 
cars, and stayed there for three days. I think it is very 
pleasant when the holidays come on a Monday; it makes 
the week - end so much longer. 

ALEXANDER 

I spent my Decoration Day sitting on the club piazza — ■ 
in a fur coat — watching the youngsters play baseball. 

[l83] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That has become typical of the amusement of the bache- 
lor upon his holiday, hasn't it? 

WEBBER 

Yes, the only difference is that some of us are spec- 
tators and some performers. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That is a distinction that runs through life. ... I 
wonder which is the more amusing? 

MRS. VANE 

I think looking on is very much pleasanter; one can be 
so ornamental if one doesn't take part in anything. 

WEBBER 

(With the scorn of the thinker) Action is exceed- 
ingly unbecoming. 

ALEXANDER 

And it upsets a man to run about in the sun. There's 
nothing in baseball — or tennis. They can't touch motor- 
ing. Exercise isn't what it is advertised to be. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But, Mr. Alexander, neither is sitting on a piazza ! 

[ 184] 



MEM O R 



DAY 



WEBBER 

And looking on is only satisfactory when it has been 
earned by work. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Your theory, then, is that it is only while we are getting 
our breath that we should pause to watch .^ 

WEBBER 

That is the great American theory. . . . What is 
yours ? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Leaning forward in her chair, and giving way to the 
pleasures of discussion) If you are searching for happi- 
ness—never pause at all. Work — hurrying from one 
definite goal to another definite goal — is the only thing 
that brings us that — a crude desire, and an occupied life. 
... Of course, if you want something more — under- 
standing and sophistication — you must withdraw yourself 
and go in for cynicism, and watch the vulgar herd go by. 
... But you won't be happy, if that is your desire. 

WEBBER 

I suppose that holding one's self remote from life makes 
for more unhappiness than anything else in the world. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Pensively) Yes. 

[185] 



I N TOWN 

WEBBER 

And the consciousness of that very thing is, I imagine, 
the motive power behind the dynamic American we see 
accomplishing great things. Work is an anodyne. 

ALEXANDER 

Work's a bore. 

MRS. VANE 

Work is just a means to an end. 

WEBBER 

What thorough individualists we all are! 

ALEXANDER 

Well, a man must help himself before he should be ex- 
pected to help others. 

MRS. VANE 

I am sure if we don't think for ourselves no one will 
think for us. 

WEBBER 

That is, of course, our national doctrine. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I am not so sure. We are very provincial, we city 
people of the better class; we imagine that everyone in 
this big country of ours is — or longs to be — just exactly 
like us. 

[186] 




^- 









They had been their heroes for a generation" 



MEMORIAL DAY 

MRS. VANE 

{Complacently) Why, of course they do! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I didn't spend my Memorial Day in a motor, nor at a 
country club, nor in playing bridge, nor in doing any of 
those things that have come to mean a holiday to us — to 
our set. ... I ran away from my house party, and 
became a part of the great American people! 

WEBBER 

How did you accomplish it? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I went to the memorial services in the village, all by 
myself. 

MRS. VANE 

What an odd thing to have done, my dear ! 

ALEXANDER 

It must have been a stupid house party. 

WEBBER 

Tell us about it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well — in the first place, the bandstand in the little 
village park was draped with red, white and blue. Not 

[189] 



I N TOWN 

too much of it — just enough to symbolize, and not enough 
to make it seem common. . . . And wooden benches 
had been put around it, and the local band played "Yan- 
kee Doodle" and "The Star Spangled Banner" — very 
badly, but very ardently. . . , And the school chil- 
dren — clean, lean, brown-faced American children — 
marched in, each one carrying a flag. . . . And the 
farmers from all about came to town in their buggies — a 
whole family in each one — and their horses were all tied 
around the square, except in one corner, where the local 
popcorn man had established a yellow wagon, and was 
selling lemonade and "sassprilla" pop. 

ALEXANDER 

I can't see why it is more patriotic to drink soft drinks 
at a wagon than hard ones at a club; it's beyond me. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well, I have never seen anything more democratic than 
that wagon! 

WEBBER 

If golden-rod is to be our national flower, I am sure 
that popcorn should be our national food ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

And after everyone was seated, the veterans marched 
in. They were old, and bent, and feeble, and their blue 

[190] 



MEMORIAL DAY 

coats 'hung loose on them_, and every person in the crowd 
knew and respected them; they had been their heroes for a 
generation ! 

WEBBER 

The veterans are the most picturesque thing we have in 
this country. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

They are more than that! ^ ... To those children, 
standing there with their hats off and their flags in their 
hands, they meant altruism, and personal sacrifice, and 
forgetfulness of self-interest. . . . The president of 
the bank was there on the platform, and the editor of the 
town paper, and the minister, and a judge from the county 
seat — but they were nowhere at all in importance beside 
those old men who had stood for something bigger than 
individual aggrandizement. 

ALEXANDER 

The president of the bank and a judge! You're putting 
your old soldiers pretty high, if you rank 'em above that. 
Money and the power to issue injunctions ought to count 
for something! 

WEBBER 

Should they count for more than sentiment, do you 
think.? 

[191] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

Sentiment is all very well, as a luxury — but of course 
no one pretends it is a necessity — like money and justice. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But the Grand Army of the Republic is not a sentiment. 
It is the strong tangible thing that did its work and saved 
the country. ... I realized, when I sat there, an alien 
in French clothes, and looked at those few survivors — 
that they were the real Americans, and that that homely 
country crowd about me was made up of men of the same 
stuff, and that we urban people, with our intimate touch 
with Europe, and our amusements, and our consciously 
aristocratic viewpoint — were just nothing at all but 
froth! 

ALEXANDER 

What nonsense! It is the city man who pays, and the 
man who pays is the main guy. 

MRS. VANE 

And I am sure no good American is ashamed of being 
in touch with Europe; on the contrary, we are all proud 
of it. 

WEBBER 

Those old men responded to the call of a voice that is 
dead. The only thing that arouses the youth of the pres- 

[192] 



MEMORIAL DAY 

ent generation is a threat to his pocketbook — not to his 
liberty. 

ALEXANDER 

Sometimes too much attention to one deprives him of 
the other. Leavenworth is full of careless men like that. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I wonder if you are rights Mr. Webber. . . . They 
didn't impress me so — those clear-eyed men and women. 

. . It isn't fair to judge a nation by those people who 
live under its worst conditions — in crowds — without 
fresh air — without horizons. I believe that there is an 
American whom we don't understand — we people who 
play with life. He is too simple for us to comprehend^ 
but he is there, and waiting, in case he should be needed. 
It may be sentimentalism, that feeling — but I am glad I 
have it. I would rather believe in that than in money. 



[193] 



XIX 

COUNTRY LIFE 



WEBBER 

(Settling into his chair with a long sigh of contentment) 
I am delighted to have been able to catch the early train! 
You have no idea how pleasant it is to sit here so serenely. 
You can't possibly imagine the impression the restfulness 
of the country makes on a man when he has just come 
from the turmoil of the town. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Doubtfully) I suppose it does seem restful. 

WEBBER 

Restful! Don't you know that this perfect quiet — 
those long, still shadows on the grass — that faint, sweet 
odor from the flower garden, make it seem almost as tran- 
quil as the Garden of Eden? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Sighing) I wonder if the Garden of Eden was really 
restful.^ Of course, Adam probably did not demand all 
the modern conveniences — it is the attempt to live a city 
life in the country that makes things arduous — but I 

[194] 



COUNTRY LIFE 

imagine Eve had her hands full_, all the same. I believe 
she ate the apple in deliberate pursuit of the simple life; 
that she wanted to leave her complicated garden. One 
always feels that joy is to be had just outside the gates. 
That is woman's nature. 

WEBBER 

But surely nothing disturbs you here.^ I always think, 
as we sit having our tea, that this is the one peaceful spot 
I know. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But peace is like every desirable goal; it is to be won 
only by the most laborious effort. How do you take your 
tea.^ 

WEBBER 

Lemon, please. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Lemon } — Where is the lemon ? — Hilda must have 
forgotten it. Will you please ring the bell. (Webber does 
so, and after a moment Hilda, a conventional waitress, 
enters) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Hilda, will you bring me some lemon, please ? 

HILDA 

There are no lemons in the house, madam. 

[195] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

No lemons ? 

HILDA 

No, madam. They forgot to send them from the gro- 
cery, and when I telephoned they said there would be no 
delivery, now, until to-morrow morning. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Resignedly) Very well, send the motor for them. 

HILDA 

The motor has gone to the station, madam, to meet Mrs. 
Vane. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Of course; I had forgotten. And the train is sure to be 
late. It always is. Well, send James in the runabout. 

HILDA 

James has gone to the village, madam, to get some 
cream for the cook. The cows are not giving much milk 
now, and she hadn't enough. It's the season, the dairy- 
man says; everything is so dry. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well, telephone and try to catch James at the creamery, 
and ask him to stop at the grocery. (Hilda goes toward 

[196] 









1-^ -. 




Mf 



■d 






■ii^iff*nJ'-iif^^^,(»X„^ 



, I 





^. '^vx^ 










^' 



"N 



,...,^„.-.uf^ 



I suppose it does seem restful'' 



COUNTRY LIFE 

exit) Oh, yes, and tell him to call at the express office, 
too, and see if the fruit has come. 

HILDA 

Very good, madam. {Ea;it Hilda) 

WEBBER 

(Cheerfully) I prefer it without lemon — really. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It's a wise man who prefers what he can get. (She 
gives him his cup) 

WEBBER 

Are you reading Wells's serial, "The New Machiavelli," 
in the English Review? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Flinging herself with eagerness into a non-utilitarian 
conversation) Yes, it promises to be more important than 
anything he has done since "Tono-Bungay," don't you 
think so? 

WEBBER 

I like it, so far. You can't be sure with a serial, how- 
ever; in this life anything one may not see the end of has 
a certain fictitious value. (Re-enter Hilda) 

HILDA 

I beg your pardon, madam, but Mrs. Vane has just 

[199] 



I N TOWN 

telephoned from the station to say that her trunk did not 
come on the same train with her, and what shall she do 
about it? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Wearily^ Tell her to come on without it and see that 
the express wagon meets the next train — at 6:10. James 
will be back in time to go, I hope. And Hilda — tell 
him to stop at the Buck's farm on the way to the station 
and see if they can let us have some eggs. {To Webber, 
with a worried look) I don't know what is the matter with 
the hens this year. They don't seem to lay at all. 

WEBBER 

(Abstractedly) Too bad. . . . Did you know that 
Stock was leading at Ravinia Park this month .^ 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Automatically making the conventional response) It is 
so wonderful having the concerts out-of-doors ! It is the 
perfect atmosphere for music. {Enter Jenkins, a self- 
respecting gardener, in a state of evident irritation) 

JENKINS 

Might I speak to you, ma'am } 

MRS. FLETCHER 

What is it, Jenkins? 

[200] 



COUNTRY LIFE 

JENKINS 

The cook says she must have lettuce, ma'am. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Of course she must have lettuce, Jenkins. {To Webber, 
in a nervous attempt at humor) Imagine a cook without 
lettuce! Why shouldn't she have it, Jenkins.'* Why do 
you come to me about it.^* 

JENKINS 

There is none in the garden, ma'am. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

No lettuce? 

JENKINS 

No, ma'am. You see, the season is so dry. It's all 
gone to seed, but I brought in some very good beets — 
and the carrots are fine this year. {He pauses, to reflect 
complacently) Yes, ma'am, it's a fine year for carrots. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{With the patience one shows a valuable servant) You 
will have to send some one to the village for what the cook 
wants. Let me see — send the chore boy, on his bicycle. 
{Exit Jenkins, mysteriously conveying, in his silence, 
the impression that he is being sided against) 

[201] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

What were we talking about? 

WEBBER 

(Blankly) I am sure I don't know. There are some 
interesting portraits at the Art Institute this week — 
Spanish. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Portraits are always interesting when you don't know 
the subjects — and always disappointing when you do. 
It is very hard on the painters; we expect them to paint 
people we are fond of — not as they look, but as we think 
they look — and naturally affection glorifies. We are ask- 
ing the artist to reproduce something he has never seen. 

WEBBER 

These are lovely, shadowy things (Re-enter 

Hilda) 

HILDA 

I beg your pardon, madam, but the laundress says the 
rain water is very brown — it's been so long since we have 
had any rain — and will you please attend to it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

(Distractedly) Tell her, Hilda, that I prefer it that 
way. (Exit Hilda, with the air of one who has been trifled 
with) 

[202] 



COUNTRY LIFE 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{In desperation) Is it your idea, Mr. Webber, that 
suffrage would take women from their homes .^ 

WEBBER 

I don't see how it can fail to have that effect. {He 
shakes his head with the reluctance of one who wishes to 
be advanced, and testifies only on compulsion) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Firmly) Then I am for it! I realize that my sex 
needs it! {Re-enter Jenkins) 

JENKiNS 

Might I speak to you^ ma'am? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{As one expecting the worst) What is it, Jenkins? 

JENKINS 

{Happily) Tne pump is broke, ma'am. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

What pump? 

JENKINS 

{With pleased importance) The pump on the well, 
ma'am. There will be no water for Sunday if I don't 

[203] 



I N TOWN 

get it fixed — none f oi:^ the house^ even — let alone the 
garden. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Good gracious ! There's a big party coming up for 
Sunday. Mr. Webber, do you know anything about gaso- 
line pumps .f* 

WEBBER 

{Decidedly^ I do not. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Well, Jenkins, send to the village at once and get some 
one. There must be some one there who understands a 
simple thing like a gasoline pump. Tell him it's a matter 
of life or death! 

JENKINS 

There's no one to send, ma'am. The chauffeur's off 
somewhere, and the coachman's running errands for the 
cook — 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Yes, I know. Go yourself, Jenkins. Take my riding 
horse, and go. {Exit Jenkins) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

You were about to s&j} 

WEBBER 

Was I? 

[204] 



COUNTRY LIFE 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Looking at him with twinkling eyes) Tell me some- 
thing more about the peace and rest of country life. 

WEBBER 

(Reluctantly laughing with her) Is it always like this? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

No, indeed. You came on an early train; the curtain 
wasn't up ; I imagine now everything that can happen has 
happened, so let us have some more tea — and we may 
discuss the musical glasses amid all the stimulus of rural 
quiet. 



[205] 



XX 

THE FIRST ROBIN 



MRS. FLETCHER 

(Whose attitude towards affairs is sufficiently serious 
and towards herself sufficiently light, to insure her being 
a good companion.) Let me give you some more tea, Mr. 
Alexander. 

ALEXANDER 

{Who is to he counted upon to be well turned out, and 
almost always to find it easier to be good-humored than, 
not.) Thanks. 

WEBBER 

(A man of unimpeachable tastes, and a believer in the 
feminine influence.) And takes away his exercise. (He 
definitely places his cup on the table) What are we com- 
ing to? 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Apparently not the vanishing point, at any rate. 

MRS. VANE 

(With an air of one improving on mere Nature) But 
everyone who motors goes to such very good tailors, and 
that makes mere difference than anything — don't you 

[206] 



THE FIRST ROBIN 

think so ? — And then, of course, there's always dear 
Carlsbad. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

The last resort of the pursuer of pleasure! 

ALEXANDER 

And not much of a resort, at that ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

If you take to making jokes, Mr. Alexander, Mr. Web- 
ber will put them in his new play. 

WEBBER 

Don't worry, Alexander. If you take to making jokes 
you will ruin your type, and be of no use to me. 

MRS. VANE 

I like people to be very typical. It is so very easy to 
understand them when they are. You know just where to 
place them. (Enter Mrs. Carlton) 

MRS. CARLTON 

{Advancing and shaking hands rapidly, with the air of 
one who never misses a train) How do you do, everyone .f* 
How nice to find you all here ! . , . Of course, that is 
one thing in favor of the city; it is dirty and noisy, and 

[207] 



I N TOWN 

there is no home life, but you do see your friends. I will 
confess that I sometimes think of it, but when I look out 
of the window, and see the clean snow, and the babies 
playing in it, and our new shrubs all doing so nicely, I 
realize that we have our simple pleasures, too. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Tea, Mrs. Carlton? 

MRS. CARLTON 

No, thank you. I find that it keeps me awake, unless 
I take it regularly, and I assure you that keeping house 
in the country in Winter is difficult enough, without de- 
manding tea every afternoon. 

ALEXANDER 

(Jovially) It would take more than tea to keep me 
awake in the country! 

WEBBER 

Try the 7:37 train for a few mornings, and then see 
how you feel about sleep, Alexander ! You don't know the 
meaning of the word. 

MRS, FLETCHER 

"What can they know of England, who only England 
know.^" Do have some cake, anyway, Mrs. Carlton. 

[ 208 ] 



THE FIRST ROBIN 

MRS. CARLTON 

I will take that. (She does so) You would never guess 
what I saw this morning! {She glances about her with 
the bright, fostering air of one who has been too intimately 
in touch with hinder gartening methods) The first robin! 
The dear little thing was right under the dining-room win- 
dows! The children threw crumbs to him; my little ones 
love nature. . . . Willy tried to catch him under his 
cap — he wanted to put him in the .cage with the canary — 
the dear child has been told that if he did they would fight 
— and he is so scientific — but the robin was too quick for 
him. Later on he will be more tame ; the little wild things 
soon grow to know their friends ! 



MRS. VANE 

{With animation) And I saw all the new Spring mod- 
els ! I went to Mme. Marie's opening, and I will say that 
I have never beheld such queer clothes in my life! . . . 
The French are so very inconsiderate; they never seem to 
have anyone over twenty-five in mind when they plan the 
fashions. I said to Mme. Marie — "It's really dreadful 
to be forced to buy such things. Think how I shall look in 
them!" . . . But you know what a French woman is 
like; she made me feel that a bag tied tightly about my 
knees was what I had been waiting all my life to wear. 
,. . . Everyone was there; it was much more represen- 
tative than the Lenten Sewing Circle. 

[209] 



I N TOWN 

WEBBER 

I passed a hand-organ as I came along the street, with 
some children dancing around it — and the balloon man 
was standing on your corner, with his great, blooming 
bunch over his shoulder. I felt the first thrill of Spring. 

ALEXANDER 

Well, this morning, I went to look at a new model, my- 
self. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

^Offering him the cake) Hat or coat.^ 

ALEXANDER 

{With the solemnity due to so serious a topic) Neither. 
It was a new motor — a 1911 six-cylinder, and they can 
deliver it next month, so I shall have it before the Summer. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It sounds almost like strawberries in January! 

MRS. CARLTON 

Ours never come until July, and sometimes we are im- 
patient — but when we do get them they are so much better 
than any others that we are repaid for the waiting. You 
know that feeling one has about one's own garden! 

[210] 



THE F"l R~^ T ROBIN 

WEBBER 

Yes, indeed. The mere maternal instinct pales beside it ! 

MRS. VANE 

(Enthusiastically pouncing upon a grievance) Gardens 
are very provoking, are they not? Just at the time when 
you don't want to bother, your man insists on your decid- 
ing about very uninteresting bulbs and seeds and things — 
and invariably when you want the miserable things they 
are not ready. . . . I should like to keep my garden a 
full month ahead of my neighbors' — I don't care to get 
tomatoes and cucumbers when everyone else is having them 
— but I can't seem to make my gardener understand. 

ALEXANDER 

(Dreamily) It's a queer thing about this time of the 
year; the new things to eat are so tempting. . . • Even 
the same old club menu seems different, somehow. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

"In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to" — 
soft shell crabs — doesn't it, Mr. Alexander? 

ALEXANDER 

Yes — and Little Necks, and things you haven't had all 
Winter. 

[211] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. CARLTON 

I think that nothing all the year is so exciting as the 
first asparagus ! 

ALEXANDER 

(^Turning to he?' with a sudden attention, as to a fellow 
connoisseur) Do you like it better with drawn butter or 
with Hollandaise sauce? 

WEBBER 

I have an idea that you and Mrs. Carlton are illustrating 
supply and demand, Alexander. 

MRS. VANE 

Speaking of demand — do you think it is possible that 
we are going to be forced into wearing hats that make us 
look like barnyard fowls? The papers all say that "Chan- 
tecler" is still having that effect. ... I wish the 
Audubon Society would take it up; I can't imagine any- 
thing more unbecoming. 

ALEXANDER 

If the Audubon Society 'd go in for practical things like 
that, I'd subscribe to 'em myself! 

MRS. VANE 

I should think that a man like Rostand, who every one 
says is so clever, would think of such things before he 

[212] 



^~ir"^~~ F I R" ST ROB I~N 

writes a play. ... I suppose he has no public spirit. 
He's probably all temperament, and always leaps before 
he looks. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I am sure if he ever looked at a lady impersonating a 
speckled hen he would never have been willing to assume 
the responsibility — not even for everlasting fame! 

MRS. CARLTON 

(Taking up the conversation as it touches her) Our 
eldest boy has developed a most interesting bent for hens. 
He supplies us with all our eggs — and you know what 
that has meant, this Winter. We pay him twice what the 
market asks for them, because I think a taste for simple 
country life — for farming — is so valuable to this gen- 
eration. 

ALEXANDER 

(Turning a restless eye upon Mrs. Carlton, and reso- 
lutely changing the subject) I am thinking of going out 
to Pasadena for a few weeks. I like Pasadena. A man 
can count on the climate there, and on oiled roads for mo- 
toring, and the club's all right, and there's no trouble 
about picking up a fourth hand for bridge. It's about 
as good as any place I know. 

MRS. VANE 

I must say that I think no place in this country is as 

[213] 



I N TOWN 

attractive in the Spring as Atlantic City. The women are 
so very well dressed^ and the shops are so very tempting ! 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{Recklessly pouring hot water into her tea pot) Pasa- 
dena — and Atlantic City — and the suburbs — and the 
city streets ! We know them all pretty well, do we not ? 
. And yet, I suppose some place where we never 
think of going, the snow is melting on the high hills, and 
the streams are running full, and there is a Spring smell 
in the air — 

ALEXANDER 

That doesn't sound good to me. My idea of a place to 
stay away from is one where the snow is melting. A man 
wouldn't be well taken care of, and there would be nothing 
to do. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I dare say. — At any rate — here I am — and now that 
I am here, can't I give some one another cup of tea.^* 



[214] 



XXI 

SOCIALISM 



MRS. FLETCHER 

(Settling back into her chair, and gently agitating her 
fan) I am so sorry for the poor, these days. 

ALEXANDER 

{Comfortably) Well, I've been held up for subscrip- 
tions to the Baby's Out-Door Sanitarium, and the Day 
Outing and the Ice Distribution Funds, and the Fresh Air 
Home, and the Free Bathing Pools, and the Park Picnic 
Association, and I don't know how many others. I'll have 
to get a charity of my own to protect me; a man without 
one is at the mercy of all his friends — they know he can't 
get back at 'em. . . . I've begun to feel that the suf- 
fering poor are getting more done for 'em than the rich. 
No one {with an injured air) is concerning himself whether 
I get into the country or not! 

MRS. VANE 

{Easily) I don't believe that there are any suffering 
poor any more, now that the charities are so busy. At 
any rate, I am sure there is no necessity for it. They have 
only themselves to thank if they do suffer. 

[215] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. FLETCHER 

{With a look of sudden compunction) The Socialists 
don't agree with you there^, Mother. 

MRS. VANE 

{With a snort of derision) The Socialists! What do 
I care what those anarchistic creatures say, going about 
trying to stir up discontent in people who are a thousand 
times better off than they were in the wretched places they 
came from? They are just trying to make trouble! I say, 
let them go back again if they don't like the way we run 
things in our country. 

WEBBER 

But you forget that "our" country is their country, too 
— and that in a few years they have as much to say about 
how it shall be run as we have. 

ALEXANDER 

(Portentously) The time is coming when we shall have 
to change all that. This agitation about giving the poor 
man his share is a dangerous thing; it may bring on the 
worst kind of a panic, one of these days. ... I tell 
you the big men won't stand for it ! They'll drop the bot- 
tom out of the stock market, the first thing we know, and 
close up the mills and the works and let the poor man go 
without his wages for a while. There's always that way 
left to show him who's who. 

[216] 



S O C I A L I S M 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Unless he takes that very opportunity to show us what's 
what. 

WEBBER 

"Big business" is beginning to have a wholesome con- 
sideration for the average voter; if he should ever reach 
the point where he knows his own strength it would be like 
a sixty - horse - power motor running away with you, Alex- 
ander. My! 

ALEXANDER 

(Gloomily) If that happened the result would be a 
smash. 

MRS. VANE 

Well, I should think so ! I never heard anything so 
absurd! I don't consider the average voter at all repre- 
sentative. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

I am afraid he might not represent us, Mother. . . . 
What could the average voter do, Mr. Webber, if he did 
wake up? 

WEBBER 

Well, of course the Socialists claim that he could give 
the laboring man a larger share of the returns of his labor, 
as a starter — and that in time he could give to the com- 
munity — and not to the capitalist — the ownership of 
land, and of materials, and of resources. 

[217] 



I N TOWN 

MRS. VANE 

I think it is a great mistake to encourage the Socialists 
by taking them seriously ! If we don't take a stand against 
them, who will, I should like to know? 

ALEXANDER 

(Flushing resentfully') A lot of long-haired, crazy en- 
thusiasts ! I'd like to see what would happen to a good 
property if they did get hold of it. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Do you think that under the present system a good 
property is run more scrupulously.'* 

ALEXANDER 

(Patiently) Of course a woman can't be expected to 
understand things like that. 

MRS. VANE 

(Broodingly) Socialists indeed! Common people like 
that! What can they know? All they want is to take 
things away from people who have always had them, and 
give them to people who never have. 

MRS. FLETCHER 

That seems reasonable. 

MRS. VANE 

Besides, I never can believe that they are sincere. Why, 

[218] 



o C I 



I S M 



you see Socialists with automobiles, these days — and the 
last time I went to New York there was one on the Twen- 
tieth Century! I didn't feel safe for a moment, for fear 
he would throw a bomb, or something. . . . Why don't 
they practise what they preach? Why don't they give all 
their own money to the poor, and see how they like it? 



WEBBER 



(Smiling) That's philanthropy — not Socialism. 

MRS. VANE 

Of course it is Socialism, Mr. Webber. Don't you 
think I know? They want everyone to share everything — 
and how long do you suppose it would be before a few 
clever men had it all in their hands again? It would just 
be the same thing all over. 

ALEXANDER 

(With firm vagueness) You must draw the line some- 
where, Webber. 

MRS. VANE 

And just see what they want to do to family life! It's 
atrocious even to think of it! Imagine little children being 
taken from their mothers and sent off to some institution 
somewhere ! It's enough to cure any Socialist with a heart, 
just to serve on an Orphan Asylum board for a time. 
Their own homes are so much better for them! 

[219] 



I N TOWN 

(She glances about the ample terrace, and over the wide, 
empty lawn, sighing, the while, with ready sentimentality) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

But as things are^ Mother^ so many of the children from 
the best home surroundings are sent to boarding schools, 
that it is largely those who have no advantages who would 
be affected by that change, even if it were attempted. 

MRS. VANE 

But, my dear, we women of the world are so much 
busier than the women who work! I often envy them, I 
am sure. . . . And even if we do send our children 
away to school, we see them in the vacations — and I am 
sure that is quite enough! I never could understand the 
necessity of the Summer vacation lasting so long ; I think it 
must be just because the teachers are indolent. . . . 
But that has nothing to do with the things these Socialists 
threaten! They want to part everything — property — 
and mothers and children — and husbands and wives ! 
There is no telling where they would stop, if they once had 
a chance. . . . Why, they might even make everyone 
dress alike! 

ALEXANDER 

(Thoughtfully) Of course if a man could count on los- 
ing his wife in ten years or so, and on having his family 
taken off his hands, he wouldn't need so much money, I sup- 
pose. . . . And of course, if that was the case, he 

[220] 



SOCIALISM 

wouldn't work for it, but (triumphantly) how could you 
tell if a man was any good or not, unless you eould look 
up his credit? 

MRS. VANE 

And how could you tell who was the right man for your 
daughter to marry if there were no such things as bank 
accounts? Why, a parent would have to go into the ques- 
tion of a suitor's ability in all those common things the 
Socialists might make him do, and that would be so much 
more complicated! 

WEBBER 

I have a feeling that under Socialism we might think 
too much of physical well-being; that we should be too 
occupied in being a comfortable race, to be a thinking one. 

MRS. VANE 

(With unconscious smugness) Materialism is so dis- 
gusting! I think things had better stay as they are, in 
the hands of those who know how to manage them. 

WEBBER 

I am afraid that we should have no great work of art 
of any kind; only individualism produces that. I believe 
that while we might have less injustice, we should have 
more stagnation. 

ALEXANDER 

No one would invent anything new. What would be the 
use of it, with nothing in it for anyone? 

[221] 



I N T Q W N 

MRS. FLETCHER 

Is money as important as all that, I wonder? Is art 
only produced for the reward of the patron? Doesn't it 
stand to reason that under glad and free conditions we 
should develop greater and more glorious arts? In uplift- 
ing so many people the Socialist feels, I suppose, that he 
would give the opportunity to become artists to those who 
might otherwise never have aspired to such a thing — and 
art has always come from the people. It must have its 
roots in the soil. 

ALEXANDER 

{With a disgusted air) It seems as if a man were never 
safe from all this foolish talk of Socialism! Why, I hear 
it even at the club ! It's all very well for the down- 
trodden to advocate it — and natural enough, too — but 
when you hear it discussed in drawing-rooms, I'd like to 
know where we are drifting, and who is going to take a 
stand against it! (He settles himself into his chair with 
the air of one who is ready and willing to support the es- 
tablished order of things. Unconsciously he shifts the 
cushions at his back, so that perfect comfort may be his) 

MRS. FLETCHER 

It's a question whether, if we did take a stand against 
it, we wouldn't simply be swept away. . . . Life isn't 
all champagne and truffles, thank Heaven — by far the 
greater part of it is beer and skittles ! 

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NOV 30 V9V0 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



